Moment of Victory
by RMacaroni
Summary: There, in the middle of the exit, where we'll walk right by it on our way out to the field, is the trophy, the prize, the most coveted award for a footballer — the World Cup. The round base holds two athletes stretching up, the world on their hands, in their moment of victory. Only the greatest have held that golden statue, and today, the US finally has a chance. ExB. AH. All EPOV
1. Chapter 1 After Match Report

**Disclaimer: Stephenie Meyer owns **_**Twilight**_**. No copyright infringement is intended.**

**Moment of Victory.**

**Summary:**

_There, in the middle of the exit, where we'll walk right by it on our way out to the field, is the trophy, the prize, the most coveted award for a footballer — the World Cup. The round base holds two athletes stretching up, the world on their hands, in their moment of victory. Only the greatest have held that golden statue, and today, the US finally has a chance._

This is an Edward and Bella story. All EPOV

**A/N:** Well, hello! I never thought I would be doing this again! Or at least not so soon.

I wanted to write an O/S inspired by a gif… but then, instigated by my two lovely muses, Jaxy and Packy, it grew out of control… so, we've made it into a multi chapter and here we are… This wouldn't have been possible without them, or without Mel who kicks my ass one comma splice at a time ;)

As you might have been able to guess from the summary, there's a lot about soccer in this story. I will probably need to clarify a few things along the way. Let's just begin with this: Footballers usually play for two teams, a club for the regular (yearly) season, and a national squad for international competitions such as the World Cup (which is held every 4 years). Edward here is American, and hence part of the US National Team, but during the regular season he plays in England for the club Manchester United.

Some of what goes on in the story has been inspired by real life soccer anecdotes which I have modified, exaggerated, or toned down for the purpose of the story.

I also have to thank Kristen, who is my height-difference expert, and Niki, who pervs on soccer players with me like a boss and who suggested the brilliant title!

So, without further ado, I present you WorldCupWard. ;)

**Chapter 1. After Match Report.**

Water is still dripping from my hair as I wrap a towel around my waist and slip on my Adidas slides. My heart is still hammering in my chest, and I can feel new beads of sweat forming on my forehead. It's always like this after a strenuous game.

I rub a towel over my hair as I head to my locker through the chaos of the dressing room. My teammates are all over the place — everyone is euphoric about today's result. I'm patted on my back, smacked on my ass, and rubbed on my shoulders several times before I make it to my locker.

I've gotta give it to the Brazilians; the infrastructure and the facilities of each of the stadiums we've played in have been outstanding. Anyone who doubted they'd be able to host the FIFA World Cup 2014 with such style was seriously in for a surprise. I even get my own flat screen TV in front on my locker set to the sports channel of my choice. What more could I ask for?

My only hope is that I get to see the goals I scored tonight before we have to leave.

I dry my body wearily, the adrenaline from our intense game seeping through, and I'm starting to feel the soreness in my thighs and calves. Boxer briefs and jeans on, I sit on the bench, resting my head back on the wall over folded hands.

As the news show cast is introduced, I can't help but snort.

_Sports experts, my ass… _Sam Uley knows about as much soccer as I do about needlepoint.

Paul Lahote sits next to Sam, behind the desk, in his inexpensive suit. I've always wondered what they wear under there. It's not like they're ever seen standing. They could be wearing jeans… or nothing at all! I'm chuckling by the time the show finally starts.

"Welcome back, folks! We are still trying to catch our breath here. What a game that was! We've got all the replays and analysis in today's After Match Report."

Paul's voice annoys me, like he's trying too hard to have a deep "anchorman" tone. At least he knows a bit more about soccer than Sam. Paul and I go way back; we both played varsity soccer in high school before I was recruited and moved to Old Trafford. His voice sounded like a girl's back then. Unfortunately, after constant injuries and two knee surgeries, he couldn't play anymore, so now he's considered a "sports expert," but I use that term loosely.

"What a game indeed, Paul! After a flawless stride through the group stage, which put them at the top of their group, the US played against Portugal today."

"Oh, Sam, they played them, all right. It was truly remarkable! Portugal, an all-time favorite, ends up being kicked out of the competition by the US, and with a 4-1 victory! The USA has always been underappreciated when it comes to soccer, but it seems our men's national squad wants to put that conception to rest this year."

"And they might even be able to. I gotta tell you, Paul, the US is gaining buzz as one of the favorite teams to take this. They started as the underdogs, but with the lead of Coach Waylon, plus the magic feet of Edward Cullen, I think this is going to end up being a great World Cup for them."

My chest swells at the mention of my name, and I may or may not be smiling.

"Do you think they have a chance at winning?"

"I most certainly do. If this game was any indication, I say their chances are unparalleled. That is, of course, if Edward Cullen can keep his temper in check."

_Oh, for fuck's sake!_

I move away from the wall and rest my elbows on my knees, rubbing a hand on my neck as I try to relax despite the waves of anger crashing over me. Coach says my temper will be the death of me, and he might as well be right. I only lasted five minutes at that anger management class. As soon as the guy started the "count to ten" exercise, I bolted out the door.

_Count to ten…_ please, like I have time to count to ten when I'm running my ass off on the pitch.

Then there was Dr. Denali and her psycho bullshit, wanting to talk about my childhood, like something might have happened to me to justify my anger. Why can't I just be angry? I had a perfect childhood. My parents were supportive of me from the start. My sister, albeit annoying, is one of the best people I know. I just… get angry. Period. There's no backstory. No need for one-hundred-dollar-an-hour-Dr-hotshot bullshit.

"He did have a couple run-ins with the ref today…" Paul continues, drawing my attention back to the TV.

_Because __he was fucking blind! _

You see, my childhood doesn't make me angry — blind refs do. Blind refs who have no fucking clue of what they are doing drive me insane.

"But still managed to pull a hat-trick and secure their advance."

_That's right, bitches._

"To be fair, though, the refs always have their eyes on him, you know? Because of his reputation, they're always waiting for him to snap."

_Why, thank you, Sam._

"You can say what you want about Edward Cullen, that he's arrogant, egotistical, selfish..."

_Don't get carried away there, Paul._

"But there's one thing no one can deny — the guy has some crazy skills. Best player the US has ever had for sure — top ranked player in the world right now."

"He's had four amazing seasons with his club, Manchester United, and his contract was renewed last year, making him the highest paid player in Europe right now."

If they start with the cars and supermodels again, I'm seriously going to lose my shit. Why can't they just do their job and replay my fucking goals?

"And well deserved in my opinion."

"Just tonight, he almost single-handedly transformed what started as a 0-1 loss into a 4-1 victory, which puts the US in the quarter-finals. He was at the heart of every play— he was everywhere. He harried defenders, ran at full-backs, played incisive passes, and was the crucial finisher that the US desperately needed."

_Damn right, I was._

"Coach Waylon can only be thankful that he kept Cullen on the squad."

_Oh, trust me, he is._

"Yes, but it was a close call though. Cullen gave some heated declarations to the press — the guy apparently has no mental filter whatsoever when spoken to after a game. He blatantly criticized Coach's decision not to let him take the penalty kick against Trinidad and Tobago in the qualifier game."

"A penalty kick which Cullen took and converted anyway, regardless of Coach's orders."

_What does this have to do with today's game? They're never going to let me live down that fucking penalty kick._

"Coach Waylon had supposedly said Cullen would not be going to the World Cup, unless he apologized publicly."

"Which he didn't."

_I didn't have to..._

"No, he didn't, at least not publicly. But here he is anyway, and aren't we all glad he is?"

_Oh c'mon, enough with this bullshit. Show me my damn goals already!_

"Before we get into the game, we have our new correspondent, Isabella Swan, right outside the US dressing room, waiting for our triumphant squad to come out, hoping she can interview Edward Cullen himself."

_Pssssh, good luck with that, Miss Swan. I'll be out of here before you can say hi._

As Paul and Sam so kindly pointed out, I have this tendency of putting my foot in my mouth when I talk to the press, so I try to avoid them as much as I can.

My eyes shoot up to the screen again just as the shot changes to reveal little Miss Swan, rocking a sexy look in an ass-hugging black pencil skirt and a white, low cut top. I thought reporters always wore suits.

_Fuck me, Miss Swan is hot!_

Rather than a conventional or obvious beauty, there's something about Miss Swan I can't really pinpoint. She's got tiny features and appears to be very short, even though she's wearing shoes that should be illegal. Without realizing it, my feet start moving, and I'm standing in front of the TV, getting a better look at Miss Swan. She looks pissed off, which makes me smile.

"Thanks, Paul. That's right, I'm outside the dressing rooms." Her heels click as she starts stepping back. Her hair is in a tidy bun on top of her head, and she looks very professional but incredibly sexy at the same time. For such a little thing, Miss Swan's got some killer curves. I think I might let her interview me after all.

"I'm looking forward to interviewing the _whole_ team," she continues.

_Was it me, or did she emphasize the word "whole"?_ I think she did. She also raised her eyebrow when she said that — the little vixen.

"I agree, gentlemen. Mr. Cullen might have scored three of the goals, but he couldn't have done it without Seth Clearwater's amazing crosses, or without the tight control Jasper Whitlock maintained on the defense. Not to mention the five astounding saves of our star goalkeeper Emmett McCarty."

_Oh, I see, Miss there's-no-I-in-team Swan, good luck with your interview then._

With a scoff, I turn off the TV and finish getting dressed, deciding to watch my goals in the comfort of my hotel room. My designer clothes are laid out for me in my locker. I barely get to pick what I wear anymore, at least not after a game, you know, to comply with sponsors. I don't put up a fight about it — I can be pretty mellow about some things— except when they want me to wear monkey suits. I fucking hate wearing suits!

I stand at the door, ready to go out, my bag strap on one shoulder, my noise-cancelling headphones over my ears. I bet people would be surprised it's Debussy playing in there, just to counteract the mayhem outside. Crowded places make me nervous, and I know I'll have to walk through a cluster of fans, reporters and paparazzi packed like sardines, before I can reach our bus. I roll my shoulders and crack my neck left and right, taking two deep breaths to prepare for the chaos I'm about to endure.

On my way out through the snake pit, I pass by Miss Swan, who's enthusiastically interviewing Waylon. I scan her up and down, deciding the TV screen didn't do her justice. When her eyes meet mine, I give her my trademark crooked smirk and then proceed to walk to our bus, refusing to talk to anyone.

_T-minus three days to quarter-finals._

**A/N:** So, who's in?

This mini-fic is completely written, and it consists of 13 chapters. We are still in the process of betaing/editing, so I will post two chapters per week for now. So see you Thursday!

Can't wait to hear what you guys think!

Ronnie.


	2. Chapter 2 Breaking the Rules

**Disclaimer: Stephenie Meyer owns **_**Twilight**_**. No copyright infringement is intended.**

**A.N: **You guys are amazing! Thanks for everyone who read, reviewed, favorited, and added to alerts. Gives me all the fluffs to know you guys are in for the ride.

The MoV team: Jaxy (Jax713) and Packy (_LittleLovely_) preread. Mel (mcc101180) betas. Wouldn't be here without them.

**Chapter 2. Breaking the rules.**

"Suck it, Ronaldo." I barely get the words out before I guffaw.

"Fucking hell!" Emmett drops the controller on the chair as he stands up. "Rematch?"

Our star goalkeeper, and the oldest of all of us, is a sore loser, especially on PS3 FIFA13, when he's trying to make Real Madrid beat Barcelona. We've been at it for most of the evening, trying to keep ourselves from dying of boredom.

Today was a slow day, mostly strategy planning and weight training, but not nearly enough work to burn me out. We're supposed to be resting, relaxing, meditating, and I don't know what other fucked up idea of torture Waylon came up with. What am I supposed to do with all this energy threatening to drive me insane? "Ohm"? Is he serious with that shit?

My laughter slowly dies down while I get up from the chair, searching for the air-filled, leather-covered distraction at my feet. Kicking the ball up with my right foot, I start juggling it from right to left. I can do this for hours — at least it keeps my feet moving and my mind busy.

"Can I play now?" Seth comes from behind the chair and reaches for the controller. Clearwater is the baby of the team. He only just recently started playing professionally with L.A. Galaxy after leaving the IMG Soccer Academy. The kid's got amazing speed and instincts. Even though we haven't played together that long, our connection on the pitch is rock-solid, like we can read each other's minds, as we showed in our match against the Portuguese.

I shrug at the kid and start bouncing the ball on my knees, controlling it with my chest.

"No! Cullen, c'mon! Last one. Don't be a pussy."

My eyes are focused on the ball I'm bouncing now on my forehead, so I can't really see Emmett's probable beseeching stare. "Sorry, Em. As much fun as kicking your ass is, I'm sick and tired of this room and your ugly faces. I need to get out of here."

"You know the rules..." Jasper says from the back couch, where he's reading one of his sissy stories. Even though he's my age, he has always had this older-brother attitude toward me. The Whitlocks have been friends with my family for ages, so Jasper and I kind of grew up together.

The rules… the fucking rules. No outings. No distractions. No fun. We got some much needed rest yesterday morning and then spent the rest of the day travelling from Manaus, North Brazil — where we played, and humiliated, Portugal — to Sao Paulo.

"We've been locked up in this hotel the whole day!" I bring the ball down to my feet again so I can look at him. "Let's go have some fun!"

"No, thanks." Jasper returns his gaze to his book.

I settle the ball under my foot and look at Emmett — he's already starting a new game.

"That shit's gonna give you a seizure," I say, but he ignores me.

I really need to get out before I go bat-shit crazy. I rub a hand over my bare chest, where sweat is starting to form. The AC in this place sucks — it's so fucking hot! I guess I could go swimming again, but my arms and back are already sore from this morning.

I grimace, realizing I have only one choice left. "Seth?"

The kid turns to look at me with wide eyes.

"Who, me?"

"No, not you, I meant Seth, my ball's masseur."

"What?" His lost expression is genuine. Kid's got no clue.

"Jesus fucking Christ, kid, are you coming or not?"

"Where?"

"I don't know. Out of here? We're in fucking Sao Paulo, for fuck's sake. Let's go to a club or something."

"I-I..."

"Edward..." Jasper warns again from the couch.

"We'll only be gone for a couple hours. Relax."

Jasper looks at Emmett, but he's already into his game and ignoring us all.

"What do you say, Seth?"

"O-Okay."

"Well, thank fuck! I'll meet you in the lobby in thirty."

Seth is out the door enthusiastically before I even finish, making me chuckle. Kid's got some spirit. "At least someone else in here remembers what it's like to have fun." My words cling in the air as both of my teammates ignore me.

I kick the ball up again from under my foot and control it with my knees as my eyes shift from Jasper to Emmett to Jasper again.

_Fuckers, both of them ignoring me._

With one flick of my foot, the ball is flying right into Jasper's book which smacks on his chest, and I'm on the floor laughing the next second.

"What the fuck!" Jasper throws the ball at me, and it hits me on my arm. "Fucking grow up, Edward!"

"Fucking grow up, Edward," I say, mimicking his tone and laughing as I get up from the floor and head out of the entertainment room.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

"Crank that shit up," I order Bernard as he fumbles with the AC controllers. How could it still be this hot past eleven at night?

I roll up the sleeves of my white button up and unhook the top buttons as I turn to eye Seth who's looking like a scared puppy.

"Hey, you okay?"

"Yes... um... won't we get recognized out there? If Coach finds out..."

"He won't. Look, it will be fine, kid. Bernard here found us one of the best night clubs in the city — back entrance, VIP room. No one will see us, don't worry."

Seth doesn't look completely swayed, but he relaxes into the seat nonetheless. I, on the other hand, am convinced we will be fine.

Bernard has been working for me for four years since I signed up with Manchester United. He's my security manager, my bodyguard, my go-to guy. His only flaw: he's a die-hard Chelsea fan. I bring him with me everywhere I go, even though our national squad has its own security team. As it happens, tonight it paid off.

"This is so crazy. I never imagined being here... with you of all people!" It seems Seth has calmed down enough to start his yammering. I swear the kid can talk through anything.

"Better get used to it and fast, kid. Your life will change after this World Cup." I remember feeling like just a kid on my first World Cup, four years ago — a fucking scared-shitless kid. But now, after playing in Europe — I'm at the top of my game. I'm bringing this cup home.

"I feel like it already has. I used to dream about meeting you, getting you to sign my jersey, and now... now I get to pass you the ball, I get to watch you play video games with your name on it! I get to go out clubbing with you… Pick up some chicks. This is all so freaking surreal." His arms flail all over as he speaks.

"Okay, calm your tits, Seth. We're only going to a club, not starting a bromance."

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

I start to second guess myself once we arrive at the club. Even though the windows are tinted, I still sink on my seat as I take in the chaos outside. There's a line of people that goes around the corner, while big names are going in through the front doors. There are paps everywhere — it's a fucking nightmare.

However, when we round the back, I start to relax. There's virtually no one back here, except for the two security guards that come out of the black door next to where we parked. Bernard makes his way around the car and opens my door. We go in quickly, surrounded by security.

Once inside, I begin to unwind. Seth trails behind me as we round the main dance floor and go up the stairs to the VIP area. The place is packed. The music is pounding, which helps mute the hammering already going on in my chest.

I laugh my ass off when Seth's eyes almost bulge out of their sockets as a sexy Brazilian, easily five inches taller than him, presses herself onto him against the stair rail. Some women move against me too, but I'm sure as hell not as impressed as Seth. I've been exposed to this life before... on numerous occasions.

The room upstairs overlooks the main dance floor through paneled windows. It's also crowded up here, and I recognize many famous footballers, mostly Brazilians. They have a set of tables reserved and have women with very little clothing on crawling on top of them.

Seth and I make our way to the bar, and I order two beers.

"We're drinking?" Seth's voice breaks nervously.

"No, we're just going to nurse them until they get lukewarm."

"Oh..."

I stare at him but he doesn't smile.

"For fuck's sake, Seth, of course we're drinking!"

"But, I'm nineteen."

"Welcome to Brazil. Drinking age: eighteen." I hand him a beer which he takes and sniffs like it's fucking scotch. I can't help but smile as I tip mine over.

I savor the refreshing bitter liquid and let it work its calming magic on me. This was a good idea. It will help me get my mind off things and relax. I am aware that there are certain risks that come with breaking the rules, but I'm being smart about it. We'll have a couple beers and then we'll head back — no harm done.

I'm surprised to see some of the Irish players here as well, given that they were eliminated today. It seems they didn't take it too badly. When Liam, who plays for Manchester United as well, sees me, he comes over to say hello. We share a beer and discuss some of the games. We agree to catch up when we are back at Old Trafford.

As soon as Liam leaves, a hot brunette makes her way over to me. She has tanned skin and luscious lips. She's wearing this barely-there white dress, which by the way I don't mind since it accentuates her pretty impressive, voluptuous curves.

"Oy, querido." She swings her waist-long, curly hair behind her shoulder enticingly.

I smile back at her with a nod and decide to order a third beer, hoping that maybe she'll ignite the long-lost fire in me.

She starts talking then... She's a model, of course. She says she wants to move to the US and work for Victoria's Secret. She asks the usual questions about my club, my awards, etc., and I get impossibly bored. There's clearly no fire. No connection. I stifle a yawn into my hand, the wear of the day finally getting to me, as I wonder if the right woman will ever come along.

I turn to check on Seth, deciding we should probably get going, and find him with his back pressed against the bar, a tiny dark-skinned girl possibly sucking on his neck. He looks like he's about to jizz in his pants. I'm laughing hard when I feel hot brunette's hand running down my chest and stopping at my belt.

I turn to look at her as my hand closes around her wrist, and I smile.

_Sorry, honey, not gonna happen._

I am so sick and tired of women throwing themselves at me just for the chance to be my arm candy at some event. I can't deny it'd be nice to be able to relieve some tension that way... but just thinking about it kinda turns my stomach. I can't do it, not anymore. I swore to myself I wouldn't. There's nothing worse than that empty feeling after you realize they've only used you as you were using them. No connection. No fire. No feeling. Nothing.

Before I can dismiss her properly, my attention shifts back to Seth and the commotion around him. Two of the Brazilian players are towering over him, yelling what sounds like profanities in Portuguese.

"Why don't you gringos go back home?" I recognize Gustavo Kaure — 6'4'' Brazilian defender who plays for A.C Milan in Italy. We've played against each other before, already gotten into a couple of fights. He has a mean tackle, and he likes to talk too much.

"Hey, what the fuck is your problem?" I get in between him and Seth. Gustavo was easily towering over Seth, but since we're the same height, we stand face to face.

"Oh, but if it isn't Edward Cullen, football superstar, or should I say soccer?"

"Who cares what we call it? It's the same fucking ball, asshole."

"Who you calling an asshole, Armani-whore?"

And that's about all it takes for me to snap. No time for deep breaths, rubbing my neck or counting to ten — I'm pushing him and he pushes me back. He goes for a hook, but I duck and he misses, and then we are both being pulled back.

Seth is struggling, pulling at my arm. I see Bernard already coming behind him. "Edward, walk away," Seth begs beside me as I try to jerk my arm free.

"Yeah, Cullen, why don't you listen to your little pet and both of you get the fuck out of here?"

My breath is coming hard through my nose, but I manage to plaster a fake smile on my face and yank my arm away. "I'm okay," I say through my teeth, looking at Bernard.

"Pussy…" The sound comes from behind me, and before Bernard can get to us, or Seth can grab my arm again, I turn around and my fist connects with Gustavo's jaw with a loud whack.

It's all curses in Portuguese then, and I manage to throw a couple more punches before Bernard pulls me back. I think I get hit as well, but the adrenaline flowing through my body does not allow me to acknowledge any pain.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

A couple hours later, Seth and I sit at the police station while Bernard is on the phone with our team's lawyer. Some fucker called the police, and they raided the place. It turns out hot brunette as well as some other girls there were prostitutes, presumably paid by the Brazilians. The cops have pictures of her with a hand on my pants and me smiling at her, as well as the other one sucking on Seth's neck. It was quite embarrassing — Seth has already vomited twice.

We don't make it back to the hotel until almost four in the morning. I get rid of my clothes and face dive on the bed — no time to think about what the aftermath of the club bust will be. At least one thing I accomplished today — I am completely and royally burnt out.

_T-minus two hours to training._

**A.N: **Oh, Edward...

What do you guys think, would he get in trouble or get away with it?

See you next Tuesday!

Ronnie.


	3. Chapter 3 Fuck Little Miss Swan

**Disclaimer: Stephenie Meyer owns **_**Twilight**_**. No copyright infringement is intended.**

**A/N:** I lied! You get a chappy before Tuesday! ;)

For those of you who don't know, the World Cup tournament format goes like this: Group stage (where only 16 teams go forward), round of 16 (8 teams go forward) also called the knockout stage, quarter-finals, semi-finals, and final.

The MoV squad: Jaxy (Jax713) plays centre-back, Packy (_LittleLovely_) midfield, and Mel (mcc101180) goalie. I'll let you guess which position I play ;)

Ready for more WorldCupWard?

**Chapter 3. Fuck Little Miss Swan.**

I feel like I just went to sleep when my alarm goes off. With a groan, I get up from bed and head to the bathroom, where I splash cold water and slap my face in an attempt to wake up.

When I try to get a hold of Seth, his cell phone goes straight to voicemail.

_Shit..._

I try calling his room, but there's no answer.

_Fucking kid is going to oversleep._

I can't afford to go get him or I'll be late, so I ask the front desk to call his room every five minutes as I head for breakfast. We usually eat together, because our diets are monitored and chosen according to height, weight, and build.

I grab my cereal and sit with Emmett and Jasper, even though I plan to ignore them the whole time. I have already started mentally preparing for the training session. I can't think about last night. I can't worry about Seth. I need my complete focus and whatever energy left to be on the training; otherwise, I won't be able to get through it… not after only having two hours of sleep.

Jasper asks me about last night and about Seth, but my eyes remain on my cereal, as I go over what's coming.

The first three hours of the training session will consist of jogging, sprinting intervals, and drills — cardiovascular training. Then we'll stop for lunch and go over some strategies specific to the team we are up against — England. The last two hours of the training session, we'll have a practice game, and then I'll have a special extra hour of free kick training.

"Edward, where the fuck is Seth?" Jasper's hiss brings my attention back to the table. I sip the rest of my milk and shrug at him, lifting myself from the chair and heading outside.

_I can't think about Seth._

I start stretching as I wait for the rest of the team. That's when I realize the throbbing in my swollen hand. I decide not to focus on it too much; I must have done some damage to Gustavo's jaw.

_Fuck. I can't think about last night._

I empty my mind and continue to stretch, until everyone is outside — everyone except for Seth.

_Shit._

Garrett Nomad, our fitness trainer, is a mean motherfucker. I am sure he's heard about last night's incident, because as soon as we start, he is riding my ass. I don't give him any reasons to complain though — I sail through jogging and finish first as usual.

When Seth shows up as we are starting drills, I use my shirt to dry the sweat from my face and try really hard not to notice the green pallor of his face. I continue my drills, as if I don't feel guilty when he gets yelled at by Garrett.

I refuse to acknowledge how bad I'm panting, how my legs are burning, or how my head is pounding. I finish drills with the top of my team and don't let myself drop on the ground until Garrett finally dismisses us all after cool down.

I lie on the turf, panting and sweating, waiting for my breathing to get back to normal. Emmett is sitting next to me, thankfully, in silence. For once, I am glad about Brazil's constant sun and heat; otherwise, I'd be tempted to fall asleep right here on the grass.

After hitting the showers, I sit in front of my locker and watch the water drip from my hair to the floor in a hypnotizing manner. My eyes begin to flutter closed until a loud smack on the bench next to me wakes me up.

"Fuck," I hiss, startled, and look up to find Waylon standing in front of me, pointing at the newspaper he just smacked on the bench. I don't even have to read it; I recognize hot brunette's ass and my trademark smirk in the picture.

I look at Waylon, his face red in anger. I am tempted to shrug at him, but I refrain.

"What is this shit, Edward?"

I look down and rub one hand against my bruised knuckles and let him go on and on about how much money bail was, how it's all over the news, how they're not going to take us seriously. In my head, I'm reviewing my free kick technique.

I don't feel the need to add anything to Waylon's rant, until he mentions Seth.

"It was _my_ idea. I dragged Seth out with me." I peek up at Waylon as he glares at me.

"Well, aren't you really fucking sweet?"

I stare at the back of Waylon's head as he retreats. With a loud sigh, I get up from the bench and finish getting dressed. When I walk in the lunchroom, Seth is sitting with Emmett and Jasper. I consider briefly if I should walk to a different table but decide against it and just drop next to Seth, who hasn't touched his food.

Jasper eyes me judgingly, and I just start slicing my chicken. I stick a forkful of chicken in my mouth and chew at it, grinning smugly at Jasper, just to spite his moral ass.

"Hey, Edward, I'm sorry," Seth whispers next to me, as my stomach sinks and my smile falters. The kid is apologizing to me — I can't fucking believe it. "I couldn't wake up." His eyes are on his plate as he pushes his food around.

I shake my head without facing him and start reviewing the angle and force needed to get a ball over the wall and straight into the net.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

I was right to suspect the hardest part of today's training session was going to be staying awake for the strategy planning. Benjamin Clapp, our assistant coach, plays videos of the English game style and their most dangerous players. It's incredibly boring. I've lived in England for four years now — I've played with most of those guys. I should be the one teaching English style football. My eyes threaten to close a couple times, but I clench my injured hand into a tight fist, willing the pain to keep me awake.

Once the strategy planning agony finishes, we go outside for a four on four practice game. Small games are my strong suit — as long as someone on my team passes me the ball, I am most likely to score. We win, all four times.

I'm running on fumes by the time I start shooting free kicks with Coach Clapp and Emmett, but I drive all thoughts of exhaustion out of my mind and only focus on angles, force, and distance.

I'm pretty fucking proud of myself and my performance during today's training session, even though I'm about ready to pass out. After we shower, Jasper's on my back about last night and Seth again.

_Can't I just catch a fucking break?_

I was planning on ignoring him the whole time, until he says the next words.

"Do you think Waylon is going to let you play tomorrow?"

I turn to look at him through a red haze. "_Let_ me play? I'm the fucking star of this team. He's going to _beg _me to play."

"You're such an asshole." Jasper stands daringly in front of me. "You're going to ruin that kid, you know that, right? He looks up to you, Edward."

I roll my eyes at Jasper. I never claimed to be a fucking role model.

"Don't you remember four years ago, being as scared as Seth?" Jasper continues his rant. "This is a big fucking deal... biggest deal of _our _careers, not just yours. Maybe it's time you realize that this isn't just about you. You don't want to ruin this for everyone by being careless and just plain fucking stupid."

"Careless?" I snap back, inching closer to him. "If I remember correctly, I was better than any of you at practice today. All you eight-hours-of-sleep, goodie-two-shoes... two-hours-of-sleep me can take on any of you, anytime, anywhere."

"Now, can two-hours-of-sleep you beat eight-hours-of-sleep me on some FIFA13?" Emmett asks stepping between us, one hand on each of our shoulders, trying to lighten the mood while pushing us away from each other.

Jasper and I continue to glare at one another, neither of us backing down, or laughing at Emmett's joke for that matter.

Clapp comes in the dressing room then, breaking the tension. "Waylon wants you and Emmett at the press conference," he says to me.

I stare at Clapp in disbelief.

Waylon is trying to kill me.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

I sit on the uncomfortable chair and run a hand over my eyes, holding my head in the other one with an elbow propped on the table. I am absolutely drained and not at all in the mood for any press bullshit.

Emmett and Waylon flank my sides and the press conference begins. My shoulders slouch, and I sink on the chair, but when I recognize the head of mahogany hair sitting in the front row toward the right side of the room, I perk up and straighten my back.

_Well, if it isn't little Miss Swan._

In one of those tight skirts, she has her legs crossed as she furiously takes notes at Waylon's declarations. He is announcing the lineup for tomorrow's game. At the mention of my name, and the omission of Seth's, her eyes turn to me. I hold her gaze until she shakes her head and looks down at her notepad, resuming her writing.

I stay mostly quiet, until Waylon is asked about the difference between the last World Cup, where we were sent home after losing to Ghana on the round of sixteen, and this one. He answers with some bullshit about our more rigorous preparation and the tightness of our team.

"Well, _I_ wasn't playing last time," I can't help but add right after Waylon finishes. I had travelled to South Africa with our team for the last World Cup, but only to warm the bench.

My comment gets some laughs from the reporters, and when Miss Swan's eyes land on mine, I grin at her. Her reaction though is not at all what I expected. She raises one eyebrow in a penetrating stare. When she rolls her eyes at me, getting her attention back to her notes with a huff, my grin disappears.

_What the fuck is her problem?_

The press conference continues, and I lose count of how many times I've yawned into my shoulder, trying to stay awake for this damn thing. I start paying attention again when Miss Swan gets up from her chair and walks to the microphone.

"Isabella Swan, for ESPN." She stretches her neck so that her mouth can reach the microphone until someone comes and lowers it for her. I'm chuckling before she starts her question. "Coach Waylon, we are surprised to see Clearwater left out of the lineup for tomorrow's game against England. Wasn't Cullen at the controversial and embarrassing club raid last night as well? Yet, somehow he still gets to play."

And with that, my smile is gone.

Maybe I am slow — in my exhaustion — but she couldn't have possibly said what I think I just heard. I think she might have, though, as several people start murmuring around the room.

"Miss Swan," Waylon starts. "My choice on the lineup for tomorrow has only to do with today's training session and the players who I think are fit to play. Last night's incident, which is very much embarrassing as you so kindly pointed out, has not affected my decision." Waylon's tone is calm which fucking pisses me off.

"With all due respect, Coach, but these men represent our country — by allowing _him_ to play, aren't you condoning his indiscipline?"

Before Waylon can answer her judgmental comment, I jump in.

"Actually, Miss Swan, it appears you have a problem with _me_. Why don't you direct your question at me?" I hiss but she remains quiet. "Have you seen me play? Were you at our training session today? Maybe you should hold your judgment until you do your homework and are well-informed on what you are talking about." I scan the rest of the room before adding, "next question," and sinking back on my chair with a huff.

I hear Emmett snort next to me as I glare at Miss Swan, who is gaping at me.

_The fucking nerve she has! _I worked my ass off on the pitch today.

When Waylon opens his mouth again, I turn to him in disbelief. "Miss Swan, what I think Edward was trying to say is that I have decided to focus on the matters of the pitch instead of the issues of misconduct. The players chosen for the lineup tomorrow are those who showed to be in the best physical and mental shape—"

I'm almost too tired not to snap at that... almost.

"No," I interrupt Waylon. "What I was trying to say was that it seems as though, when it comes to me, people are less interested in my performance and more concerned with meaningless tabloid bullshit."

People gasp around the room at my swearing.

"Dude..." Emmett whispers next to me, nudging me with his elbow.

Coach covers his microphone with his hand and turns to the press conference moderator. "Can someone cut off his mic?"

_Oh, fuck this shit._

I shoot up from the chair and turn to leave, fucking raging.

_Fuck Waylon, and fuck the press… but most of all, fuck little Miss Swan!_

_T-minus sixteen hours to the quarterfinals against England._

**A/N:** Uh-Oh… someone is pissed…

Let me know what you guys think and who was fooled by the title on this chapter… lol

Now, for serious, see you Tuesday!

Ronnie.


	4. Chapter 4 Quarterfinals

**Disclaimer: Stephenie Meyer owns **_**Twilight**_**. No copyright infringement is intended.**

**A/N:** Well, hello! What I gathered from your reviews: No one was fooled by the title and Edward is an ass. lol

Thanks to my lovely pre-readers Jaxy (Jax713) and Packy (_LittleLovely_) and my rock star beta Mel (mcc101180).

In case you don't know: In soccer, a yellow card is a warning from the ref, but if you get two in the same game, you automatically get a red card. The red card means you are expelled from the game without substitution, and as further sanction, you can't play the next game either. For serious offenses, the ref could give a straight red (without yellows first), which also means you're expelled from the game, but this time you miss the two following games.

**Chapter 4. Quarterfinals.**

I sit on the bench in front of my locker, still panting but somewhat calmed down — numb. Sweat is still dripping from my face and my hair as I bang my forehead repeatedly on the soccer ball I cradle in my hands.

I can't breathe through the cotton in my nostrils, and I also can't feel my right hand. I'm pretty sure I broke it this time, although I don't know if it was when I punched the post or the wall, when I pounded my fist against the turf, or when I banged it against my locker door.

My eyes peek up to glare at said locker door which is now mangled and spotted with blood.

I can't believe how this day turned out.

This morning I was feeling confident to face the Brits in the quarterfinal game, despite the fact I wasn't able to get much sleep. Even though I was exhausted and I would have had enough time to sleep, every time I closed my eyes, Miss Swan was clouding my mind.

Miss Swan and her judgmental smart mouth — Miss Swan and her perfect lips.

Miss Swan and her hateful stare — Miss Swan and her beautiful, bottomless, chocolate brown eyes.

Miss Swan, Miss Swan, Miss Swan…

_I fucking hate Miss Swan._

Mostly, I was angry at myself for snapping that way at her in front of everyone — for letting her have that much power over me. I promised myself that the next time she had a mic in front of me, I would behave, or at least I was going to try my hardest to...

Once we arrived at the field and started to warm up, I managed to keep Miss Swan out of my head. What I couldn't stop thinking about was Seth and the fact that he wasn't playing — especially because I was fucking struggling to connect with Eric Yorkie, who was going to be coming on for Seth during the match. His passes were too long, or too short; either way, we just weren't communicating effectively.

It only got worse during the game.

I tried to carry my team on my shoulders — do everything by myself — but James Hunter, one of England's defender, was like a fucking tick stuck on my back. Merely two times I got through him, only to squander both chances. The first time, I kicked the ball directly at the keeper, making it easy for him to save. The second time, I put it harmlessly wide.

I was having no luck without Seth there.

I was frustrated. I was angry. I was tired. James was fucking fouling me left and right, but the blind ref wouldn't blow his whistle. The first half ended 0-0, and I marched angrily to the dressing room.

I stared at the floor as Waylon went on and on about our poor performance on the attack. Our defense, on the other hand, was tight, giving Emmett nothing to do for the forty-five minutes we had played.

England came out of halftime with their minds set to score, which meant we had to move back our lines and I had even less chances than before. James was fucking getting on my nerves — it seemed like "get Cullen angry" was England's strategy — and since the ref was apparently not going to call on anyone fouling _me_, James started hitting me harder.

When Eric finally put a nice cross through to me, I had James flanking me on my right side as I tried to outrun him. His only way to stop me, though, was with a deliberate elbow to my nose. I fell down, covering my face in pain, and when I looked at my hand, I saw red — literally. I couldn't feel it, since my face was numb, but I could taste the blood gushing into my mouth.

I jumped to my feet and slammed my hands on James' chest. "You fucking asshole!"

"Fuck off, Cullen!" James pushed me back, as the ref and some players ran to us. Jasper was holding me back as I stared at the ref's hand fishing in his pocket.

_Red card his ass, c'mon!_

I couldn't fucking believe it when his fingers pulled out a yellow card which he flashed to both me and James.

_Are you fucking kidding me?_

"Bleeding... out..." I think he said, pointing.

"Edward, calm down." Jasper pushed me away, trying to get me to walk off the field and get my bleeding under control so I could keep playing.

I couldn't see, couldn't hear, and couldn't feel past my anger. I wanted to stomp my cleats on James' face and kick his teeth down his throat. Maybe shoot the ref afterward. Clearly, the violent video games I usually played were not helping me channel my anger — they only gave me colorful ideas…

"Edward!" Jasper yelled in front of me, trying to get me to focus on him, although it was hard to hear him through the roar coming from my chest. I tried to center on his eyes, which were begging me to get my shit together.

I let him push me back and started walking to the side of the field where our team's medics were waiting. My eyes were on Waylon as he walked over to me, but when the medic started shoving cotton in my nose, my eyes shut closed in a wince.

"Fuck!" I breathed out through clenched teeth.

"Is it broken?" Waylon asked next to me.

"No," I answered before the medic could, pulling away from his hand and looking at Waylon.

"Either you calm down or I'll take you out, Edward."

"I can't," I hissed, my fists clenched at my sides.

He grabbed my chin, pulling my face up, and inspected my nose. "Forget he exists and focus on the game. You want to get even? Then score a goal. I can guarantee that will hurt him more."

Coach Clapp was also there, handing me a new shirt since mine was covered in blood. I changed shirts quickly and waited for the ref to let me back in.

The minutes ticked and it didn't get better. I missed two more chances, pounding my fist against the post over one, and punching the turf relentlessly over the other. I was exhausted — my little adventure out clubbing had taken its toll no matter how much I tried to deny it. I was frustrated and angry. I was trying my hardest but still was having the worst fucking game of my career.

I kept pushing though, ignoring the soreness of my muscles and my lack of breath. It was especially difficult to keep my breathing in check when I had blood-clotted cotton shoved up my nose. I couldn't give up on attack and started desperately looking for chances, moving out of my position.

Out of nowhere, and in a moment of luck, a corner kick transformed into a pretty messy situation inside the box. Eric headed the ball, which bounced on one of the defender's knees straight into the goal. We couldn't believe it, but somehow we scored.

There were only fifteen minutes on the clock, and we were up 1-0. I could have dropped back and helped out with the defense like Waylon wanted me to. Could have. Should have. But if I wanted to make up for all the misses during the game, I needed to score — I wanted to, desperately. Also, I really needed to get back at James.

Of course, we were both tired — he was getting sloppy and I was getting pissed off. The ref would have none of it, and he let James foul me hard about five times, until I couldn't possibly take it anymore, and then the ref finally blew the whistle when _my _elbow connected with James' nose.

When he showed a second yellow, followed by a red, only to me, my jaw hit the floor — figuratively. I pulled at my hair in despair as I turned to Waylon who was shaking his head, looking down. When my eyes met Jasper's, who had his hands on his knees in an attempt to catch his breath, my stomach sunk. I was leaving my team with ten men to manage the Brits for at least ten more minutes.

_Motherfucking ref!_

I stifled a scream as I bit the neck of my shirt in frustration. I couldn't even look at James, who was still on the floor with blood gushing out of his nose, afraid I might just pounce on him. It was very tempting, and I was already close to losing it.

It felt as if time had frozen, and I was just standing there, my fingers gripping the neck of my shirt which was still trapped between my teeth. Jasper's hand shaking my shoulder brought me back to reality as the ref was signaling me to leave the field.

"It's okay," Jasper said, patting my back. "We've got this." He was panting. "We're almost there."

I didn't want or deserve his encouraging words, so I shrugged his hand off my shoulder and marched off the field with my head down. Coach Clapp handed me a sports drink bottle which I smashed on the wall.

I stayed in the tunnel, peeking at the game. England turned over to the attack, overwhelming our defense. As if that wasn't enough, the ref felt the need to add five minutes of injury time, which was when I pounded my fist on the wall.

When he whistled and signaled a penalty kick for England after a very doubtful foul with only one minute left on the clock, I thought my head was going to explode. I covered my eyes with my hands — I couldn't watch. If they scored, they would tie, and we would have to go to extra time... thirty more minutes, with one man down.

I peeked between my fingers, just as Emmett spit on his gloves and rubbed them together. He seemed collected — confident. I shut my eyes again in panic. I was having trouble breathing, and I had to use one hand on the wall for support. The stadium was silent for a second and then exploded in cheers. When I opened my eyes, I saw Emmett smiling, with the ball in his hands.

_Oh thank fuck!  
_  
The relief that washed through me, for having gone through to semifinals, only lasted about a second, quickly being replaced by utter rage. I was still red-carded and now that meant I was going to miss the semifinal game.

That was when I went back to the dressing rooms, and as everyone celebrated, I destroyed my locker door and possibly broke my hand.

Jasper tried to talk to me but almost got punched in the face. Emmett came to me as well, but after congratulating him on his save, I not so kindly asked him to leave me the fuck alone. When Seth peeked his head behind the lockers, looking genuinely concerned, I wished I had the balls to use my broken hand and punch myself in my broken nose.

"Not now, kid." I had to dismiss him before he could get any closer. He opened his mouth, as if he was going to say something, but then turned around and left.

After spending more energy than I thought I had left, and running out of things to break, I sank on the bench where I've been for the past fifteen minutes, trying to get my breathing back in control — which is pretty fucking difficult considering I can't breathe through my nose.

I really wish I wouldn't have refused the medics' help. At least they would have taken this shit out of my nose already.

_Fuck it…_

I pull the two pieces of cotton from my nostrils and dry the remaining blood on my sleeve, moaning into my arm.

To try to avoid more bleeding, I lift my head, and wouldn't you guess who's right there on the TV screen transmitting live from outside the dressing rooms.

_Fucking Miss Swan looking flawless._

I can't really make out what she is saying — the guys are still pretty loudly celebrating. But I can read the heading running under her image: "Edward Cullen almost ruins it for the US."

Against the painful protest of my right hand, my fingers clench around the ball I still have on my lap as a whole new wave of rage surges through me. In the next second, the ball is smashing the TV screen, and I am flying out the door.

_T-minus two seconds before I completely lose it._

**A/N:** Oh boy… where do you think he's going?

Also, does this count as a cliffie? If it does, I'm sorry. Good news is you'll have chapter 5 on Thursday! yay?

Ronnie.


	5. Chapter 5 Out of Control

**Disclaimer: Stephenie Meyer owns **_**Twilight**_**. No copyright infringement is intended.**

**A/N: **Thanks to my lovely pre-readers Jaxy (Jax713) and Packy (_LittleLovely_) and my rock star beta Mel (mcc101180).

Lettuce get on with this so we can be on speaking terms again... maybe. ;)

**Chapter 5. Out of Control.**

I storm out of the locker room, pass the hallway, and come out of the restricted area in mere seconds — I'm still wearing my cleats for fuck's sake.

I see Miss Swan, resting against the wall, her mic swinging from her hand. A tall, broad-shouldered guy stands next to her, the huge video camera next to his feet.

Without really knowing what I'm doing, or what I'm going to say, I march over to them. The only thing I know is that this won't end well, but my body is acting without reason at the moment.

When her eyes shoot up in my direction, she smacks her cameraman on the shoulder — prompting him to get ready — and moves to stand right in front of me.

Her eyes scan my face, taking in the damage inflicted by James. For a second, I think her gaze shows some concern, but it's quickly replaced by a defiant stare. I haven't even looked at myself in the mirror yet, but judging by her expression, I must look like hell. Granted I haven't showered, I'm drenched in sweat, and there's probably still blood on my face.

She seems uncertain for a second, like she doesn't know how to proceed. She fumbles with her mic, turning it around in her hand.

As she stands before me, I can't help but notice how she stretches her neck, looking up at me, since her height puts the top of her head barely at level with my shoulder.

_God, she's so small._

She's over a foot shorter than me, even in those heels.

_How can such a little thing make me so fucking angry? _I shake my head and try to regain my train of thought. Right, I was pissed at her.

"You—" I start, but she cuts me off.

"Your take on the game and your red card, Mr. Cullen?" She lifts the microphone close to my neck.

Her guy has that camera on me too, with a light blinding me, and I suddenly feel attacked.

"Get that camera out of my face," I hiss to him, but he doesn't back down.

My blood boils, and I swat a hand at the lens.

"Hey! What the fuck is your problem?" he barks back at me, without moving the camera.

"I told you to get that shit out of my face!"

"Hey, stop. Stop!" Miss Swan puts a hand on his chest. "Jake, back off," she says to him, and he complies, I think. My eyes are glued to her hand on his chest, and I don't understand the feral anger that her touching him provokes in me.

When she turns back to me and brings the mic closer again, I am pretty certain I won't be able to control my word vomit.

She puts a finger on her earpiece and sighs. "What's your impression of the referee?"

_Don't insult the ref, don't insult the ref, don't—_

"The ref was a fucking joke!" The words roll out of my mouth before I can help it. Miss Swan looks down, as if disappointed. "If anything, we should have both been sent off. Didn't he see how many hits _I_ took, or how James elbowed _me_ in the nose, _before _I gave that one back to him?"

She's playing with that damn earpiece again, frowning at whatever is being said to her. It's a little distracting, to be honest. "So, you are admitting your blow was intentional, then?" Her tone is controlled, resigned.

"No, I'm not! All I'm saying is we were both on each other. It appears like some players can't even be touched, but in my case, everyone can hit me as hard as they want."

"Do you have anything to say to your fans?"

And I'm lost, because no matter what I say, this is a dead-end. I give up with a sigh.

"What do you want me to say?" I search her eyes as I push back the hair stuck to my forehead.

"Well, you could start by apologizing."

"Apologize? I've got nothing to apologize for!"

"Interview's over." Bernard comes out of nowhere and grabs my elbow, pulling me back, rescuing me from the swarm of cameras and mics. I hadn't even realized there was a crowd of reporters surrounding us.

My eyes are fixed on Miss Swan's, and she holds my gaze defiantly. I'm thankful for Bernard holding me back because the anger boiling inside of me is like one I've never experienced before. I've never been violent with a girl — woman — but the overwhelming need to get my hands on her, around her neck to be more specific, is almost blinding and all-consuming.

Once we pass the restricted area doors, Bernard lets go of my elbow.

"Goddammit!" I kick the wall in rage.

I did it again! I made a fool of myself in front of the cameras. I let her have that power over me.

I stay in the hallway, breathing hard, with my hands on my knees, as Bernard stands quietly behind me.

I seriously doubt this day could get any worse. But of course, Waylon comes right away to prove me wrong. "Where the fuck were you?"

I don't look at him. My eyes remain on the floor as I see a drop of blood fall.

_Shit, my nose is bleeding again._

"The medic staff said you refused to let them look at your nose or your hand," Waylon continues as I get up and run a hand under my nose, wincing, and then wipe the blood on my shorts.

"Edward, for fuck's sake!" Waylon has a hand on my shoulder. "Get your shit together, son."

I stand with my hands on my hips, staring at Waylon as he leaves me and Bernard alone in the hallway. I feel like everything is collapsing around me, and I can't breathe — I can't think. I'm afraid I won't be able to get my shit together, not until I face Miss Swan.

I turn to Bernard. "Get me that reporter."

"But, Edward…"

"Bring her here, now."

"Here where? The lads are still in the dressing room. You're set to leave in an hour."

"Dammit, Bernard! Just get her somewhere so I can talk to her... ALONE!"

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

I take a quick shower and avoid everyone like the plague. Once in the infirmary, the medics clean and check my nose, and bandage my hand — neither is broken, just severely bruised. After refusing the pain meds they offer, they finally clear me and leave me the fuck alone.

I wait in the room for Bernard to bring me Miss Swan. I'm not quite sure what I want to do with her yet. For some reason, I feel like I need to explain myself to her. I hate how I come off with the press, but they bring the worst out of me, and I don't want that anymore. On the other hand, I also want to put her in her place and tell her to her face that she's a little fucking shit-stirrer. Which side of me will prevail remains to be decided.

I have about twenty minutes before our bus leaves. I pace in the room and wait until I hear the distinct sound of her high heels approaching.

I'm disappointed to see that when Bernard opens the door, the cameraman is standing next to Miss Swan.

"No camera," I say to her, pointing at him.

"Told you," I hear Bernard whisper.

"Jake, it's okay," she says, again with a hand on his chest.

Can't she just talk to him without touching him? Or is he fucking deaf?

She steps in the room, and Bernard closes the door behind her. She pulls out her earpiece which is connected to a black box behind her belt. She turns a little knob on the box until it clicks, and then she puts it back into place.

With her hands on her hips, she looks at me quizzically. I'm trying to form words, but she's wearing one of those skirts that starts at her waist, ends just above her knees, and hugs every single inch of her form. To make matters worse, the white button up she has on has the top two buttons opened, showing some provocative cleavage.

I'm equally parts turned on and pissed off. I close my eyes and run a hand through my damp hair, deciding that, at this point, my anger surpasses my attraction to her — barely.

"Is there a problem?" she asks calmly.

"Yes. I have a problem with you provoking me," I say as I open my eyes. The double meaning of my words is not lost to me.

"I was just doing my job." Her tone is as defensive as her stance with crossed arms over her chest.

"No. You most definitely were not. You were purposely trying to humiliate me!" My raised voice makes her flinch, and even though her stare is still defiant, she takes a step back, her arms dropping to her sides.

"You did that all on your own, Mr. Cullen." Her chest rises and falls with her accelerated breathing, as I move even closer, my body just acting on pure instinct.

My hand closes around her elbow, and I'm breathing hard, my nose flaring. The feel of the skin of her arm sends a burst of flames through my hand. I don't think I've ever been angrier in my whole life.

Her eyes search mine, and even though I feel completely out of control, she doesn't seem scared. "If you don't let go of my arm right this second, I'm going to scream, and then you'll be in real trouble, Mr. Cullen."

Her warning does nothing to calm me down. If anything, it just makes me crazier. I inch even closer, panting, my mind clouded by rage. As I press my body on hers against the door, her heat incinerates me, and my anger slowly transforms into something else. The fire that I mistakenly confused for rage a couple seconds ago is now demanding that I claim her mouth. My eyes dart from her lips to her eyes and back.

"Then scream," I hiss, pressing myself flush against her. Her breath hitches. Her tongue peeks from her mouth and darts over her bottom lip, giving me all the invitation I need.

My lips are roughly on hers, and she whimpers, her breathing coming out harshly through her nose. My bandaged hand flies to her neck, under her hair, and pulls her face closer to me, while the other one moves from her elbow to her waist.

When her hands pull at the hair at the back of my neck, I can't contain the groan that escapes my mouth as I grind myself against her.

How could I have gone from wanting to rip her throat out to aching to claim her body right here, right now?

"What are you doing to me?" My voice is barely a whisper, as I leave her mouth for air. My panting is becoming embarrassing, and I have to hold on to the wall behind her.

"Please, get off of me." The voice of her plea is small, but the authority it conveys resonates within me. She loosens the fist that is grasping my hair, and her hand drops, brushing my shoulder and chest. I use the wall as leverage and painfully push myself away from her.

I'm struggling for breaths. I don't know what has gotten into me. My career is on the verge of collapse, and I just assaulted a reporter in the infirmary room.

Eyes down, I try to collect myself while I search for the words to apologize to her. I manage to take a couple deep breaths, but before I can say anything, my head is turned with a painful smack on my left cheek.

_What the_—

"I'm sorry, Mr. Cullen, but I think you've mistaken me for one of your whores." Her eyes are wild with anger, and she's grabbing her hand. If the stinging on my face or the throbbing on my nose is any indication, she put substantial force into that slap.

We glare at each other for a couple seconds until she turns around, opens the door and hurries out. I hear the clicking of her heels and the voice of her Neanderthal cameraman calling "Bells!" behind her.

I palm the side of my face and wipe more blood coming out of my nose, completely overcome with the happenings of this day.

Let's recount: elbow to nose, check. Unfair red-card, check. Slap on the face, check.

This day couldn't possibly get any worse, right?

Wrong.

I walk through the snake pit again, with explicit instructions not to talk to anybody. I'm determined not to look at them, not to listen to them, so that I'm not even tempted to peek at her.

I look straight ahead, but when I walk outside, I'm surprised by the angry expressions on the fans' faces. I remove my headphones, and that's when I hear the boos.

_They are booing me._

When Emmett steps out behind me, the boos transform into cheers.

_Oh great. Just fucking great!_

On the way back to the hotel, I do a quick search on my phone and look at some of the news already bashing me out, calling me things like "spoiled brat", "idiot" and "stupid boy."

_Boy? I'm twenty-four for fuck's sake!  
_

I hold my face on my hands, trying to figure out how this could be happening to me. This World Cup was supposed to be the peak of my career, my golden time, and now everything's ruined.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

While we have dinner at the hotel, Emmett and Jasper go on and on about the game. They direct some comments at me, but I disregard them. When one of the assistants comes to us, I don't even look at him.

"Miss Isabella Swan is here to interview you."

I look up at the mention of her name. I want to tell him that she can go fuck herself, but in reality, I want to apologize to her. I just don't think I'm in the best mood for that right now.

"Oh, is she now?" I lean against the back of the chair and cross my arms over my chest.

"Not you," the assistant says and then points at Emmett. "Him."

"All right now..." Emmett says, standing up, a smug smile on his face. "I'm gonna go see what cute little Miss Swan wants." He bites into an apple before he walks away.

Of course she's here to interview Emmett — he was the hero of the game. I refrain from banging my head against the table because my nose is really fucking hurting at this point.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

Somehow I find myself pacing outside of the room where I know she's interviewing him. I know I should just go to bed, but I can't. I want to face her — I need to see her.

When Emmett comes out, followed by Miss Swan's cameraman carrying the equipment, I duck out of view. Once their footsteps disappear down the corridor, I peek my head out and see that she's in the room by herself, picking up her stuff.

I don't think about it twice and storm in.

"Why don't you want to interview me?!" She startles at the sound of my voice and drops the papers she is holding. She arranges them quickly on the table before she turns to face me, a controlled expression on her face. "I carried that game on my shoulders until the very end," I continue, my voice strained. "And then one mistake — ONE! — and now everyone is acting like I'm the villain here."

She rubs two fingers on her forehead while her other hand sets on her hip. She seems to be gathering her thoughts and when she speaks, she sounds jaded. "How do you want them to act? Have you heard yourself? The stuff that comes out of your mouth sometimes..."

"What's wrong with being confident?" I push, getting closer, my body not able to resist the pull she has on me.

"You're not confident. You're a pretentious and arrogant asshole."

_Oh, that's _it_._

I cage her against the table, my breath coming out of my nose like an angry bull about to charge. She makes my blood fucking boil.

She looks down, shaking her head. "I'm sorry. That went too far."

I lift her chin up with two fingers. My hand is trembling with the effort of not gripping her harder than I intend to.

I want to yell at her, tell her that she's biased, that she's wrong, but most of all, I just want to kiss her again.

She stares at me as her gaze slowly softens, and I wonder what I look like to her. "You should go rest. You're tired and volatile. You're letting your anger get the best of you."

"I've had a shitty day. I deserve to be in a shitty mood." My face inches closer to hers on pure instinct.

"Don't you dare kiss me, Edward Cullen."

I groan, staring at her lips. My tongue slips from my mouth and wets my bottom lip. I really just want to fucking kiss her.

"I've already told you; I'm not your type." Her judgmental tone stabs at my sanity.

"What do you know about my type, huh?" I spit the words angrily as my eyes search hers again.

She holds my gaze while her hand moves to mine and peels my fingers off her chin. The moment the skin of her palm makes contact with my hand, I am paralyzed with the overwhelming calm that creeps through me.

In the next second, she drops my hand and brings hers to my cheek, where she slapped me about an hour ago. "Why are you so angry?" Her soft tone and the feeling of her hand on my cheek completely disarm me, to the point my knees feel weak, and I have to lean onto the table behind her for support.

Coming undone, I exhale shakily, the reality of the day hitting me hard, and only now realizing how exhausted I truly am. Without my permission, my head drops to her shoulder and I take in a deep breath. The moan that escapes my lips has nothing to do with the painful way my nose is pressing against her collarbone, but everything to do with how right it feels to be close to her.

The moment ends way too soon, her hand is gone from my face, the connection is broken, and she is squeezing out from under me.

"I should go," she says, moving away from me. I use both hands to hold me up on the table.

I want to beg her to stay and hold me a little longer, but I don't really think I have the courage to make that confession yet. The truth is, I can't let her go, not without knowing when I'll see her again. And I need to see her again. I really don't know what the hell is going on or how she just broke me like that, but when I hear her heels click away, my own words surprise me. "Will you be in Rio tomorrow?"

We travel to Rio the Janeiro tomorrow for the semifinals. If she's covering our game, she should be going there too.

The clicking of her heels stops, but she doesn't answer. When I turn to look up at her, I see she's facing the door. "Will you?" I insist.

She turns slowly, biting her lip. She eyes me suspiciously and blinks once, twice.

"Why do you want to know?"

"I want to take you out to lunch." My guard is down as I implore her with my eyes. "As an apology, you know? For being such a pretentious and arrogant asshole."

She smiles minutely and looks down, shaking her head.

"Please," I say, moving away from the table and coming closer to her. "Just one meal."

"I don't know if that's such a good idea."

"Why not?"

"I…" Her eyes are still down, her lip trapped between her teeth again.

"Don't make me beg, Miss Swan." I stand in front of her as she slowly peeks up at me.

"Okay, lunch." Her eyes search mine as if she's trying to see through me. "And please call me Bella."

"Okay, Bella." Even under my current mood, I can feel a grin creeping on my face. "Can I pick you up tomorrow at your hotel?"

She nods once and gives me a tiny smile. She fumbles in her purse until she takes out a card and a pen. She writes on the back of it before she hands it to me, and then she's gone.

I look at the card, fully smiling at her digits and at the turn this day took.

_T-minus eighteen hours to lunch with Bella._

**A/N: **Sooooo, what do you guys think? Did Bella go easy on him? Do you think she will?

Thank you all who have reviewed! I love hearing your thoughts, so please keep them coming.

Ronnie


	6. Chapter 6 Prainha Beach

**Disclaimer: Stephenie Meyer owns **_**Twilight**_**. No copyright infringement is intended.**

**A/N:** It's Saturday!

Thanks to my lovely pre-readers Jaxy (Jax713) and Packy (_LittleLovely_) and my rock star beta Mel (mcc101180). I always add/change stuff before I post though, so any remaining mistakes are all mine!

**Chapter 6. Prainha Beach**

After a much needed ten hours of sleep, I wake up feeling renewed. I can't say Bella didn't cloud my thoughts all night, but at least this time, the thoughts were pleasant enough not to keep me awake, and they also distracted me from other, very unpleasant, thoughts.

Throughout the morning, I continue to avoid my team. I am not ready to talk about the fiasco that was yesterday's game. I stick to Emmett since I appreciate his lightheartedness. He only makes one comment about my "nice shiner" and then lets it go.

The flight to Rio de Janeiro is short. I keep my hat and Ray-Bans in place as we are attacked by press and paparazzi at the airport. My mental block is on as well, aided by my noise cancelling headphones, refusing to hear any comments about me.

Once we are settled at the hotel, I hit the gym. The team is taking it easy today — there's one intense day of training ahead before the semifinal game that I'll be sitting out. I haven't met with Waylon yet, but I'm hoping he's going to let me train regardless.

We'll get a couple hours for ourselves after lunch; we're supposed to use them to relax, rest and medi-fucking-tate, before strategy planning tonight. Well, I'll be having none of it, but Waylon doesn't need to know that.

I sneak in for lunch earlier than the rest. Our meals are booked, so I can't really skip it — I don't need to give Waylon any more reasons to be on my back.

Hoping to stay unrecognized for the day, I get dressed in my own clothes for a change. A pair of chino shorts, blue t-shirt on top, and my run-down-used-to-be-dark-blue Vans.

I stay in the car, following Bernard's advice, as he waits for Bella outside. When she finally comes out, my breath catches in my throat. She looks nothing like when she's working. No tight skirt. No heels. No tidy bun on top of her head. Instead, she's wearing tiny denim shorts, a loose tank top and flip-flops. Her hair is in a braid, which she flips over her left shoulder as she smiles broadly at Bernard. I've never seen anyone more beautiful.

"Thank you, Bernie," she says as he opens the door for her.

Is he… is he smiling? I don't think I've ever seen Bernard smile — ever.

"Hey," she says to me, bouncing on the seat as she gets in.

"Who are you? And what did you do with Miss Swan?"

"Ha…ha…" She swats at my leg. "It's my day off, so no ankle-breaking heels, thank you very much."

I have to admit I'm slightly nervous, bordering on uncomfortable, inside the car. Bella isn't like other girls I've been with. She seems genuine, like she's not even trying to impress me, and I'm really lost on how to approach her. I rearrange my hair inside my baseball cap as she taps her fingers on her thighs to the beat of the music softly coming from the speakers behind us.

I peek at her through my shades and she turns to face me as if she could feel it. When she smiles that pretty little grin of hers, I decide to just relax and enjoy the fact that she agreed to spend some time with me.

When we get to the restaurant, she thanks "Bernie" again as he opens the door for us, and I chuckle when I look at how hard he's trying not to smile.

"Oh my God!"

"What?" I look at her, confused.

"I'm reconsidering the heels."

"Why?"

"I look miniature next to you!" She points at our reflection in the restaurant window and how her head is at my chest level.

I stand up tall next to her, making the difference more obvious, and circle my arm over her shoulder and around her neck. "Don't worry, I'm very gentle." I smirk at our reflection in the window as she scowls at me, and her hand pulls at my arm. We disentangle awkwardly, and I move to open the door for her. Once we step in the restaurant, we are greeted in Portuguese by a small woman.

"Table for two," I tell her, but by the look she gives me, it is clear she doesn't speak English. I'm starting to regret my idea of going to a truly authentic, where locals eat, kind of restaurant. I dig in my brain for my limited Spanish, thinking it must not be that different.

"Tablo para dos, por favor," I say, smiling at Bella, hoping she's impressed by my multiculturalism.

When I look back at the waitress, she stares blankly at me. I scratch my neck, a little lost — that's about all the Spanish I know. Maybe I could go get Bernard; he might be able to help. Bella's eyebrows rise before she starts laughing. I gape at her, dumbfounded, when she addresses the waitress in what sounds to me like perfect Portuguese.

We follow the waitress inside, and when she stands by a table in the middle of the restaurant, Bella shakes her head and tells her something else. We are then taken to a more private area by the back.

"You speak Portuguese?" I move her chair back as she sits, and then walk around to my chair in front of her.

"Sim." She winks at me.

I shake my head and smirk at her, a little embarrassed.

Since we are in a private corner, I take my hat and glasses off, running a hand through my hair, trying futilely to tame it.

"Ouch." She winces as she looks at my eye.

_Fucking James…_

My eye is a bit bruised but at least it's not swollen. I guess it could have been worse. My hand throbs as I fist it under the table — the thoughts of what went on yesterday attacking me — even though I was able to take off the bandages, it's still a bit achy.

"It looks worse than it feels," I say with a shrug, taking a deep breath to try to keep the anger from bubbling. I don't want to think about James, or yesterday's game for that matter.

The waitress comes back and hands us two menus. Bella studies hers, while I don't even look at the thing. I already ate, but it's not that. My eyes are fixed on the woman in front of me. On her delicate hands and the way she holds the menu. On her full bottom lip and how it's trapped between her teeth. On her thick eyelashes as she looks down and scans the menu. On the braid she has her hair in, how it falls over her shoulder and ends in a little curl next to her breast. Her breasts... in that tank top...

Bella clears her throat. "Eyes up here, soccer-boy."

I'm genuinely laughing when the waitress comes for our orders.

"Do you already know what you want?" Bella asks me.

"I always know what I want." I keep my eyes on hers the whole time.

"You didn't even look at the menu."

"Oh... I'm not eating."

"What?"

"I'm on a special diet." I wink at her. She must know our diets are controlled.

Bella raises one eyebrow at me before she turns to the waitress and places her order. I stare hopelessly at her lips, enraptured — Portuguese has officially become my favorite language.

Once the waitress leaves, Bella turns to look at me again. "So you brought me here to watch me eat? That's kinda creepy."

I can't help but laugh again — it feels so good.

"No, I brought you here to spend time with you." I hold her scrutinizing gaze. When she stares at me like that, it feels as if she's trying to see through me, to figure me out — it does things to me.

The waitress is back with water for me and something that looks like iced tea for her.

"So, Portuguese, huh?" I ask as Bella drinks her tea and gives me a little shrug. "That's really impressive."

"I know a bit of Italian and Spanish too."

"Now be careful, Bella, you don't want to come off as a pretentious and arrogant… what was it? Asshole?"

"Hey… I find languages fascinating." She twirls the straw in her tea, swirling the ice around.

How is it possible that I find that sexy as hell? My leg starts bouncing under the table, struggling to stay put in my seat, as Bella tells me about her last summer vacation in Mallorca.

When the waitress comes with her food, Bella grabs the fork and points it at me. "You talk. I eat," she orders, and I laugh again.

"Okay, Tiny Terror…" I blow out a breath exaggeratedly and her eyebrows shoot up. "What? You called me a pretentious and arrogant asshole. I think Tiny Terror is me going easy on you." She smiles and shakes her head at me. "It makes sense too, 'cause you're tiny, but when you get going you can be pretty frightening."

"All right now…" she warns.

"Okay, I started playing when I was—"

"Sorry..." She lifts one finger up, interrupting me. "I know everything about you and soccer. How old you were when you started playing. Which clubs you've played for. How many goals you've scored. How many awards you've won… that's part of my job. But I'm not working right now, am I? I want to know about _you_."

My eyes widen in disbelief at the fact that she doesn't care about that side of me — it's equally liberating and scary as hell.

When she sees the expression on my face, she chuckles and adds, "See, Cullen, despite what you may assume, I do way more homework than you think."

"I see…" I say guiltily as she throws back at me what I accused her of in our previous press conference encounter.

"So, tell me about you," she insists.

"That's the thing, Bella. That's me." I rub my neck as I look down.

"I don't believe that. There must be other things you like."

"I don't know..." I don't have time to really like anything else.

"I know you like fast cars and easy women," she says teasingly.

"I do like fast cars," I say, peeking up to see her. "But I can't say I like anything easy."

I leave that hanging there, waiting for her to push the topic.

"Yeah, I'm not going to fall for that one." She sticks a forkful of food in her mouth and smirks. She's eating, which means I should be talking.

"Well... I... I like the beach." I can't believe how timid I sound. I don't really like to talk about the real me. My comfort zone is the soccer superstar — the character I've created — but I'm lost at this kind of stuff.

She nods and chews, making me smile.

"That's one of the things I miss the most about California. My parents live by the beach. My sister and I used to be out playing in the sand all the time…" Even though England is mostly surrounded by water, there's never any sun and the water's always freezing.

Bella continues to eat, looking intensely at me and hearing out my story. Somehow my leg stops bouncing, and I relax. I tell her about going for a swim every morning, enjoying the smell of the ocean when you wake up, going for runs on the beach with my dog…

Bella's food is cleared, and I realize I haven't stopped yammering the whole time.

"How long 'til you have to go back?" Bella sets her napkin on the table and looks at her watch.

"I still have a couple hours."

"Let's go then."

"Where?"

"To the beach."

"What, _now_?"

"Do you know where you are? This is Rio de freaking Janeiro! The beaches here are a-mazing!"

"You want to go to the beach right now?"

"Yeah... why not? Can't your gorilla drive us?"

"Uh... yeah... I guess." I scratch the back of my neck. I can't deny going to the beach right now with Bella sounds very, very tempting.

I look at her and she smiles.

_Screw the rules!_

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

"Hey, Bernie, take the coastline going west." Bella props herself between the front seats.

"Where are we going?" I ask once she sits back.

"Prainha Beach," she says with a broad smile.

"That sounds scary."

She laughs. "It means small beach. Praia means beach and prainha means little beach."

"Bella, I can't—"

"Hush, it's secluded — it's always empty. Don't worry about it."

We drive for about half an hour while Bella tells me how much she loves the ocean and the beach as well. She tells me about fishing with her father and building sand castles that always ended up looking like piles of "poop."

"Hey, Bernie, can you stop here for a sec?"

Bernard eyes me questioningly through the rear view mirror as we slow down.

"What are we doing?" I ask her.

"We need suits, unless you plan to swim in your underwear," she explains and I grin mischievously at her, completely up for swimming in our underwear, which has her backtracking. "Forget I said that. We need suits."

"Bella—"

"The store is small and totally off the beaten path. No one would know you here."

"You underestimate how much people love soccer in this country. I'm kind of a big deal." I really don't care about being recognized. I just don't want to be photographed out again, or I'll never hear the end of it from Waylon.

"Okay, Mr. Big Deal, wait here. I'll be right back." Her mocking tone and the way she teases me don't go unnoticed; however, I don't want her going into that store alone — it looks kind of sketchy.

"Wait," I say, getting my cap and glasses on. "Let's do this."

The store is small and cluttered — there's even stuff hanging from the ceiling. Bella is already chatting with the guy behind the counter. She turns to look at me, her eyes travelling to my waist.

"Trinta e quatro," I think she says. Numbers I know. Thirty-four — my pant size. I smile.

"Try these on," she says to me.

"I don't appreciate being ordered around," I deadpan.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Mr. Big Deal. Would you like to try these on?"

"Much better," I say, grabbing the shorts. "I want this one on you." I take the little green thing that caught my eye from the rack.

Her eyes widen at the scant fabric on the bottom piece.

"Not a chance."

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

I get out of the car in a flash. "Holy shit! Look at this place!"

I can't find words to describe the view in front of me. There is no road that actually gets to the shore, so we park on a cliff overlooking the beach. Prainha is a small, crescent-shape, white-sand beach. There is virtually not a soul here, except for a couple of surfers. The water looks crystalline, although the current seems strong. If you could take a picture of heaven, it would look like this.

"What did I tell you?" Bella stands next to me, hands on her hips, overlooking the beach from the cliff.

"This is amazing!"

"I know, right?"

I turn to look at her — the wind blows some of her hair on her face. "_You _are amazing."

She completely disregards my comment with a small smile. "C'mon, let's go. We don't have a lot of time." She grabs my hand and starts heading down the trail.

Once we make it to the beach, I take off my shoes and toe the sand, loving the feeling of the warm grains under my feet.

_God, I missed this._

My shirt is off next, and when I turn to look at Bella, she's getting rid of her shorts.

"You went for the green." I swallow hard.

"It's not the same one though." She turns around to show me her mostly covered butt, peeking at me from over her shoulder.

I've dated models, supermodels, even a Miss Universe once, but none compare to Bella. Her beauty is not portrayed in height or big boobs, but it comes from within — it radiates from her. Her smile is real. Her eyes are deep. She's confident. She's funny. She's smart. She's absolutely, breathtakingly beautiful through and through.

"Bella, you can wear a potato sack or nothing at all, and you'd still look stunning. I vote for the latter."

"Stop that," she says, turning around, getting rid of her tank top.

"Stop what?"

"Okay..." She waves a hand toward the water, dismissing me. "All yours, Beach-Boy."

"Stop calling me names, Bella."

"Or what?" She stands in front of me, her neck stretching as she looks up. "I'm not scared of you."

My laugh comes from deep within my chest. "Boy, you really shouldn't have said that."

I bend over, my shoulder pressed into her stomach, and my arm wraps around her legs, under her butt. In the next second, I have her over my shoulder, squealing and laughing, hitting me in the back, as I walk into the ocean.

The water is cool and refreshing as I submerge us both, shifting Bella from my shoulder to my lap. The current is strong, and my arms wrap around her protectively.

When we come up for air, Bella's holding herself on my shoulders but keeping herself at arm's length.

"Over or under?" I ask as I see the wave coming.

"What?" she asks as the wave hits us. When we come up, her hair is rustled forward, over her face.

I back up closer to the shore as she pushes her hair back.

"I think I can reach the bottom here," she says as the water is at my waist line, but I still haven't let her go.

"I don't know… you're so short."

She smacks my shoulder, and I let her go gradually, my skin prickling as she slides down. Before I can reach for her again, she ducks in the water, smoothing her hair back.

We swim for a while; every time I try to get closer to her, she ducks in and moves away.

Once we're walking out, I drop on the sand.

"Let's see those piles of shit castles you were bragging about."

"Piles of poop." She kneels in front of me, giggling. "Okay, so… you dig a hole," she explains, bending over as her hands start digging.

I'm very distracted by her breasts jiggling in the green bikini with the digging motion.

"Once it fills with water, you can grab a fistful of sand, like this…" she holds her little fist over the sand "…and you let it drip." Water with sand trickles from it, leaving little globs of sand on its way down.

"It does look like shit!" I laugh and she throws a fist of sand on my chest.

"Hey… okay, let me try." I stick my hand in the hole she dug and start making my castle of droppings.

The activity is actually hypnotizing and very relaxing. We stay like this for a while, in silence, making little piles of poop.

I take a deep breath and exhale loudly. "Thank you, Bella."

"C'mon, it's nothing." She shrugs as she continues playing with the sand.

"It was just what I needed to forget about all this shit."

"It's going to be okay, you know?"

"Everyone hates me now."

"They don't hate you..."

"Fans were fucking booing me yesterday!"

She lets go of the blob of sand and wipes her hands on her knees, looking at me.

"Because they're passionate, they're so into this. You've given them hope that this is really going to happen for us. And then you almost took it away..." she smiles "…on a temper tantrum."

I drop the sand from my hands into the hole with a splash and glare at her. "A... a temper tantrum?!" I feel the anger burning inside of me. My hands turn into fists that shake next to my sides.

"Yes..." she says unapologetically, sitting on the heels of her feet, right in front of me. "Like the one you're about to have now."

"I... I'm not... I wasn't... Fuck!" I run the crook of my elbow down my face, trying to control myself.

Bella moves closer, and her hand reaches for my face. "Don't let the anger control you, Edward." I close my eyes and lean into her touch. "Channel it into something else. Own up to what happened — deal with it. Move on and make it better."

My hand mimics hers as I open my eyes and pull her face closer, but before I can kiss her, her hand drops from my cheek to my chest and she lightly pushes me away.

I groan. "I'm just trying to channel my anger."

"Don't. Not that way anyway." She is quickly on her feet. "C'mon…" She pulls on my arm for me to get up. "Let's rinse all this sand and go."

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

I sit silently in the car and look at the window — my mind going over what Bella said. I need to own up to what happened. Deal with it. Make it better so I can move on. Whether the ref was a blind motherfucker or not, I made everything worse by acting on it, by letting James get to me. Not to mention if I hadn't been so tired, or if Seth had been playing, the game would have been a completely different story.

So part of it was my fault… some of it… well, most of it. My temper's fault — my fault.

The drive back goes by in a flash, and we are in downtown Rio in no time. I look at Bella, embarrassed that I wasted all this time, lost in my thoughts, but she seems deep in thought as well, staring at the window.

Once we are at her hotel, I break the silence. "Please, can I see you again tonight?"

"I don't know, can you?"

"I'm not supposed to, but I want to."

"Maybe you should try to stay in Coach's good graces for now."

She's right. We're having a strategy meeting and then I'm meeting with Waylon. I also want to make things better, with Seth, for starters.

"Will you be at the press conference tomorrow after training?" I ask and she nods, her hand on the door handle. "There's something I want to say."

"Okay." She gives me a small smile. "Thanks for today." She twirls her hair between her fingers nervously. "Thanks, Bernie." And then she's gone before I can thank her.

_T-minus eight hours until I start to make amends._

**A/N:** All right, he's trying… yay?

Prainha Beach is a real place in Rio de Janeiro, and it looks like this (bit . ly /NpEEC8) (get rid of the spaces) And if you have never made sand drip castles (bit . ly /OhLBwr) you are missing out on a LOT of fun! ;)

Oh, and Sim means yes in Portuguese, but table in Spanish is mesa not tablo. *shaking my head at WorldCupWardo*

Can't wait to hear what you guys think!

Ronnie.


	7. Chapter 7 Making Amends

**Disclaimer: Stephenie Meyer owns **_**Twilight**_**. No copyright infringement is intended.**

**A/N:** Hello there, pretties. I can't thank you enough for your reviews and your pretty words. I had a lot of fun writing this so the fact that you guys enjoy it means the world to me.

Thanks to my lovely pre-readers Jaxy (Jax713) and Packy (_LittleLovely_) and my rock star beta Mel (mcc101180).

Special thanks to Kristen for sharing her height-difference expertise! ;)

**Chapter 7. Making amends.**

The knocking on the door resonates through the silent hallway. It only takes three rounds of constant pounding for Seth to open the door.

When he does, I smile. "Wakey, wakey, Sally Sunshine."

His eyes are almost shut as he scratches his head. "What time is it?"

"Time to practice free kicks before breakfast. Get your shit, and let's go."

Seth drags his feet back into his room, and I wait outside.

Last night I apologized to Waylon for my attitude over the past couple of days. Said I was disappointed at myself for letting the nervousness, the anxiety, and my anger, get the best of me. It affected my performance. It affected my team. I owned up to everything, like Bella said I should. I promised to make it better, starting with Seth.

Waylon seemed convinced. He said he had faith in me and he wanted me to train with the team. We discussed his strategy against the Italians, and we agreed Emmett should be captain for that game.

I hope, if we make it through, he'll think I deserve the captain band back for our final game. When I asked to be present at the press conference, he eyed me suspiciously, but once I explained why, he agreed.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

Bernard drives Seth and me to the training field as we snack on some protein bars. It is still dark out when we arrive.

"The Italian's strongest suit is their defense." I start arranging the cones on the turf. "It will be hard to get through them, so you need to take advantage of every foul that could lead to a free kick."

"Am I going to be the one taking the free kicks?"

"Well, I'm not going to be able to take them from the bleachers now, am I?"

"Right..." Seth scratches his neck and faces down.

"Let's try twenty yards first, okay?" I set the ball down and glance at him. "The placement of the air valve is important. You want it to face where you're hitting the ball. For this angle, and to favor your left foot, you want to aim for the bottom left side of the ball. That way it will go over the barrier and into the top right corner of the goal. Okay?"

He nods, still looking down, twirling his fingers at his sides nervously.

"Listen, kid, don't think about it. Don't think about what the game means. It's just another game, okay? It's all in your head. You think about this ball and that net. That's it." I get up from the ground and smack his shoulder. "Top right corner. Give it all you have." I walk backward to the goal as a get the keeper gloves on.

Seth takes his five steps back, stops briefly for a deep breath before he makes the run and kicks the ball. He's got good technique but not enough force. I catch it easily.

"Come on, kid, my little sister could have put more power into that. Technique was good, though. Keep your leg straight like that."

When he tries again, it goes over the top bar — too much force and not enough direction. I hear him curse under his breath as I go get the ball.

"Again." I throw the ball back to him.

After several more tries, he's still not getting it right. I can see that he's getting frustrated, when I catch his last trial. It's almost time for breakfast anyway, and the rest of the team will be here in no time. I decide we'll practice again, later today, when Emmett's around.

"Sorry," Seth says when I approach him. The kid's a mess — hands on his hips, breathing hard, eyes down.

"You're overthinking it."

"I can't, okay? I can't _not _think about the game. It's a big freaking deal! And you won't be there. And I won't ever be able to kick that ball like you do."

"Being scared shitless is not gonna help either. If you can't get your shit together here, when it's just you and me on the pitch, how are you going to do it when you've got eleven cannoli on your back and millions of eyes on you?"

Seth sighs and gazes at the goal.

"Mind over matter, Seth. That's the main fucking point. You're the only one who can control what gets in there and what doesn't. But if you come out like a scared puppy, they will eat you alive."

Seth still seems tense and troubled, staring at the goal. With the realization that I'm not really helping him, I change my strategy.

"Here's how I do it." I pick up the ball and set it right in front of me. "I look at the ball, and I ask myself, what would Jesus do?"

Finally his eyes are on me, his eyebrows raised in surprise. "Really?"

I'm laughing hard as I kick the ball, over the imaginary barrier of men, straight into the right corner. No keeper would have been able to catch that. Not even Gigi Buffon.

"Seriously, Seth? No, of course not. I don't ask myself, or Jesus, anything, I just fucking kick the ball." I put an arm around his shoulders as we head back. "Let's go. I'm starving."

Once training starts, I jog next to Seth, sharing every little detail I can think of about the Italians I have played with, their weaknesses, how to get through them, and who to avoid. I can see his fear slowly turning into determination.

During drills, he excels — kid's fast on his feet. If he plays like that on the field tomorrow, he could dribble past any Italian defender. Garrett notices too and pushes us harder, to meet Seth's speed. At the end of drills, we are all lying breathless on the turf.

"What's gotten into you, Speedy Gonzalez?" I manage to ask between pants.

"Mind over matter," he says through a snort, and I laugh.

"Hey, Edward…" He sits up, holding his knees with his arms. "I don't think what happened at the club was your fault. _I_ went willingly. _I_ drank too much. _I _was the one who over-slept. I don't blame you at all."

"Good, 'cause it wasn't my fault," I deadpan.

Seth snickers, shaking his head. "Anyway... thanks for doing this."

"Oh, don't thank me yet, kid. You won't get rid of me until you get that kick right, and we haven't even started yet."

As we play our four on fours, it becomes clear that Seth was holding out on us. Or maybe his fear was holding him back. The kid's got some amazing dribbling style, and his runs are flawlessly timed. He knows when to shoot, when to pass. His finishing excels with placement over force. He's got that poacher instinct, and despite his size, he can get through tall defenders and manage to get the ball in. He's unbelievably talented.

Once training is over, we stay behind with Emmett and Coach Clapp, practicing free kicks and penalty kicks. Seth manages to get it down a couple of times, but it's not consistent. He still needs to find that balance between power and precision.

We stop after a couple hours — not wanting to overdo it or he'll be too sore tomorrow. The game against Italy is in the afternoon, so we'll get some more practice time in the morning.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

My hair is still damp from my shower as I enter the press room. Flashes go off and I squint my eyes looking for Bella. In the front row, wearing one of those devilish skirts and heels, I find her, legs crossed and her foot bouncing. She's not taking notes though — she's looking straight at me, and I can't or won't try to contain my smile.

I take my seat on the chair as I wait for the craziness to begin. Waylon announces the starting lineup for tomorrow, and then the questions begin. My Tiny Terror does not disappoint, and as soon as she gets the mic, she asks how I feel about what went on during the game against England. I take a deep breath and hide my fists under the table.

_This is why I'm here..._

"I feel like I've let my team down. I want to apologize to them as well as to all US fans. Our squad performed brilliantly and managed to see the game to completion for a winning result with only ten men."

"Do you have any complaints about the ref or the red card decision?" I know she's testing me. I know I have to say these words. Part of making amends and all… but it doesn't make it any easier.

"No, I don't have any complaints about the card." I hope my voice doesn't sound as strained as it feels. When I look at Bella, she nods encouragingly, so I think I'm doing all right. "I've watched the replay and it was well-deserved. I reacted badly at the beginning, trying to protect myself, but I can see now that I was wrong."

Bella frowns and takes her earpiece out, annoyed with what's being said to her. "You've trained with your team today, even though you won't be playing tomorrow. What do you think are your chances of making it to the finals?"

"Well, I don't have a crystal ball, Miss Swan," I snap back before I can control myself. I take a deep breath, and when I stare at her, her look surprises me since it's not defiant, but apologetic instead. The sincerity of her gaze grounds me, and I am able to find the words I want to say. "I am disappointed and saddened that I won't get to play, but I have faith in my team and that they'll do their best to pull through. When this started a couple of weeks ago, no one thought the US would be in semifinals... but here we are, and we have every intention to take it all the way to the end. I will be supporting my team both on and off the field."

She nods at me with a tiny smile on her face even though her look is still apologetic. She says she has no further questions, and they move on to the next reporter. I huff and relax into my seat.

That was close. I could see myself easily ruining my attempt at apologizing. I'm glad she didn't push me further, or I might have snapped… again.

Soon enough it's all over, and I'm being escorted by Bernard to our car, since the rest of the team already left on the bus. I'm trying to come up with excuses to contact Bella, to see what she's doing tonight, to talk to her even for just a little bit, when my phone vibrates in my pocket with a text from her.

**"Sometimes I hate my job. I'm sorry. TT."**

_TT? _I smile at the screen and then look at Bernard.

"Back to the hotel?" he asks from the front seat.

"I don't know yet," I answer as I type. **"Meet me at your hotel? PAA."**

The seconds tick by as Bernard watches me, waiting for my instruction.

_Come on, Bella, come on..._

Finally, she answers.

**"Okay. Room 913. Still busy though, so give me an hour."**

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

Bernard drives me back to our hotel for dinner and so I can change into my own clothes. Then we very stealthily sneak out — I'm breaking all the rules now.

Once I make it to the elevator at Bella's hotel, I press the number nine while my heart pumps in my chest. My palms are sweaty, and I rub them on my jeans. I don't even know why I'm so nervous to see her. I guess I'm just excited… happy.

Standing at the door of suite 913 hesitantly, I remove my hat and run a hand through my hair. I knock softly, and I'm surprised when it flings open wide.

"Oh my gosh, you're early." Her hands are on her ear, taking an earring off, I presume, while her leg holds the door open. "Come in." She gestures with her head, putting the earring between her teeth and going for the other one.

I walk inside as she steps out of her shoes.

"I just got here, Bella. You don't need to take your clothes off… yet." I waggle my eyebrows at her and smirk.

She picks up the shoes from the floor and points the at-least-five-inch heels at me. "These could do some damage," she threatens playfully.

"I bet..."

"I need five seconds to change." Shoes in hand, she heads for her bedroom.

She makes this too easy — I can't help but tease her.

"If you let me watch, you don't have to rush."

"Stop that... seriously." When she turns around, she seems a bit flushed.

_Is she nervous like me? Excited perhaps?  
_  
"Okay... Okay... sorry," I say in surrender. "You've got five seconds."

She disappears into the bedroom, and I stand awkwardly in the living room of her suite, while I try really hard not to think about her getting naked behind that door.

_Did I mention it was hard?_

To try to distract myself, I take in my surroundings. Her suite is smaller than mine, but still a decent size. The living room is a bit sparse, with just a couch and two chairs filling it, combined with a small kitchen which has a minibar and a high-top counter with two bar stools.

I stand there awkwardly, a hand rubbing my neck, until I hear the bedroom door opening. When she comes out, she's wearing jeans and a t-shirt, her hair's loose, and she's barefoot. I can't help but notice how young she looks.

"How old are you?" I blurt out.

"Twenty-three."

"You don't look twenty-three."

"Do you need to see an ID?" Even though the clothes are gone, the reporter snappiness of my Tiny Terror is still in full effect.

"No, I trust you." I, however, am in full on mellow mode. I don't want to fight. I don't want to be angry. I just want to be here, with her.

She walks to the mini fridge and bends over. "Water?"

"No, thanks. I'm okay." I swallow hard at her curves in those tight jeans.

She walks over to the middle of her living room where I stand, turning the water bottle in her hands. When she stops in front of me, her face is at my chest, and she stretches her neck, looking up at me.

"Hey, Big Bird, would you mind sitting down? You're kinda giving me a neck ache."

"Big Bird?" I snort, dropping on the couch. "See, that's a nickname I'm actually okay with. As far as the size of my bird is concerned, I'm—"

"Shut up," she says with a laugh, kneeling on the couch next to me, sitting back on her heels.

When she struggles to open the water bottle, my hand reaches for it instinctively, and with one twist of my hand, I have the lid between my fingers and hand the bottle back to her. She smiles and takes a sip, before relaxing into the seat, setting the bottle on the side table.

"Okay... so I'm sorry about earlier, and even before—"

"You were just doing your job. I get it," I cut her off because I know it's not her fault — it's just how the media works.

"I know, but it still doesn't make me enjoy it. They want me to push people over the edge, to get a reaction…" she explains. "I hate that part." Her eyes are down at her hands intertwined over her lap.

"I'm sure your job has its perks." I smile teasingly, my hand itching to reach for hers but I secure it between my knees instead.

"It does..." She smiles, peeking up at me through her lashes. "Traveling to beautiful places, meeting interesting people. And it's also not always like this. Sometimes I get to interview normal, even-tempered people — like Emmett."

"See, it felt like you were apologizing, but then—"

"I was. I am. I'm sorry." She giggles. "You did really well today, by the way."

I can't get over the fact how happy her smile makes me — how contagious her laughter is. No matter how much she aggravates me, I can't be angry when she's close — I just can't. My hand reaches for her face, and in a moment of weakness, my body just gravitates to her, but before my lips can touch hers, she puts a hand on my chest and pushes me back.

I exhale loudly in frustration and run a hand through my hair. "Bella, please... just... let go, c'mon. I know you want this too," I whisper as I try to cope with her rejection.

"Excuse me? I don't." She moves back, crossing her arms over her chest defensively.

"Yes, you do. You kissed me back, that day at the infirmary. You did. Your hands were in my hair. You were pulling yourself closer to me, pressing yourself on me."

"Did you forget about the part where I slapped you, right afterward? That was me taking the kiss back."

"You can't take it back. It's there. It happened. It's all I can think about." When my eyes meet hers, all I find is denial. How can I explain how I feel without sounding like a psycho who's completely obsessed with her after having met her only a couple of days ago?

Before I can say anything else, there's a knock on the door and she groans.

She rushes to the door and stretches herself on her tiptoes to reach the peephole, using her hands on the door to push herself up. When that doesn't work she takes a little jump. I think she might be the most adorable thing I've ever seen in my whole life. And just like that, my anger and frustration are out the door, and I laugh through my nose.

"Need help there, Thumbelina?"

She turns around and glares at me and, with a finger over her lips, shushes me.

She sighs and opens the door only just to peek her head out. I can't see who's there, since the couch where I sit is behind the door, but my smile leaves my face as I recognize his voice and his ridiculous nickname for her.

"Bells!"

"Hey…" Her leg crosses behind her as she pokes the carpet with her toes.

"We're going out for drinks. Wanna come with?"

"Sorry, Jake, I'm tired."

"Come on, Bells. It'll be fun."

"I'd rather stay in."

"Want some company?" Instead of dejected, his tone is eager, suggestive… it makes my blood boil.

Dude can't take a hint. Maybe he _is_ deaf after all.

"Jake, I'm just going to head to bed." Even I can sense her annoyance. She wants him to leave, and so do I.

I'm getting close to the point of standing up and personally removing him from her door when he finally desists. "Oh... okay... I'll see you tomorrow then."

She says goodbye and closes the door behind her as I try to get my rage in check.

"Very unprofessional to be dating someone from your crew, Miss Swan," I say with a tsk, tsk, tsk, mildly joking, once she's sitting next to me.

"What are you talking about?" She thinks I'm joking, but I'm not.

"Wasn't that your cameraman, who you're clearly dating?" I don't think I succeed in hiding the irritation from my tone. I don't care though. The image of his ugly hands on her turns my stomach. The thought of her hands on him makes me livid.

"What?" Finally her expression turns serious. "Yes, it was Jacob, but no, we are not dating."

"Good."

"What's it to you?" she snaps back warily.

"_What is it to me_? Have you not been paying attention, Bella? I want you. I... fuck... I need you."

_Well, there goes trying not to sound like a psycho._

"Edward, stop." With a hand out she stares at her legs again.

"Why? You're not with the cameraman, right? Is there someone else?"

"No, there isn't anybody." Her hand falls on her leg and she gazes at me. "But I'm not looking for anything either. I want to be by myself right now."

I don't buy it. I really don't. I see the way she looks at me. How she bites her lip and blushes around me. Her touch can't possibly ignite this fire within me without her feeling something... anything.

"When I agreed to that lunch," she continues, "I... It didn't mean that... I just... I wanted to help you. You looked so lost."

"So you're saying you took pity on me?" I can feel the anger simmering beneath my skin. My hand shakes in a fist next to my leg, begging for some contact.

"No! I wanted to get to know you too."

I grab her hand, my thumb rubbing her palm. "Tell me this doesn't feel right. Tell me you don't feel it, and I'll leave you alone. I won't try to kiss you again, unless you want me to, I promise."

She sighs, looking at our hands. "I do feel it. But…" she trails off.

I wait a couple seconds, but as she doesn't continue, I lose my patience.

"But what?"

"I just don't trust you." Her voice is so small as she stares at our hands. My heart breaks a little.

"That's because you believe the lie — the camouflage. That person the media puts out, the one that dates models and buys expensive cars. That's really not me. I don't want to be that person anymore."

"This from the guy who was out with prostitutes less than a week ago." Her tone is cynic, one eyebrow raised as she glares at me.

_Oh, for fuck's sake!_

I wrap my fingers tighter around her hand, my eyes never leaving hers.

"Bella, I wasn't. She was just there. I had nothing to do with her."

"Whatever. It really is none of my business."

Her words feel like a bucket of ice water down my spine. Of course she doesn't trust me. She barely knows me. And all I've been so far is a temperamental asshat — a pretentious, arrogant asshole as she so kindly put it.

Fighting with her is not going to get me anywhere, so I take a deep breath — keeping my rage in check — and try honesty instead. "Okay. I understand why you don't believe me. Can I at least try to earn your trust? It's just that, I feel good when I'm with you. I don't feel angry, I don't feel anxious... I just... it just feels right. And that hasn't happened for me in a long time, Bella… or even ever… with anyone."

Her eyes search mine, but she doesn't speak. "Why don't you sit with me tomorrow for the game? I'll have to watch it from the bleachers, and I know it's going to drive me insane. I could really use some company."

"I'm working tomorrow." She sighs.

"Oh, okay." I look down in disappointment, taking little comfort in the fact that we are still holding hands.

"I… um… I only have to cover the pre-game, half-time, and after-match. So… I can watch most of the game with you. Would that work?" she offers timidly.

I peek over at her, the hope in her words making me grin. "Yes, that's perfect."

She smiles coyly, and I let go of her hand awkwardly, instantly missing her touch, as I get up.

"I should probably go." I rub my hand on my chest as I walk to the door. I shouldn't stay out late anyway, and the more time I spend with Bella, the harder it seems to let her go. I turn to give her a little smirk, one that says I'm not going to be an asshole about this — that I'll take whatever she can give me. "See you at the stadium then?"

She gets up from the couch and walks over to me. "Okay."

My hand reaches for her face, and I run my thumb over her cheek. I keep my grin in place and nod at her, before I gruelingly tear my hand away, turn around, and leave.

_T-minus fifteen hours until semifinals against Italy._

**A/N:** Awww… TT and PAA… How much longer do you think Bella will resist him?

Can't wait to hear your thoughts!

See you guys Thursday for the semifinal game,

Ronnie.


	8. Chapter 8 Semifinals

**Disclaimer: Stephenie Meyer owns **_**Twilight**_**. No copyright infringement is intended.**

**A/N:** Happy Thursday!

Thanks to my lovely pre-readers Jaxy (Jax713) and Packy (_LittleLovely_) and my rock star beta Mel (mcc101180).

**Chapter 8. Semifinals.**

I look at the clock and turn on my bed again — the minutes click and I am still unable to relax enough to let sleep find me. This the biggest deal of my career — the opportunity of a lifetime. The World Cup is only held every four years. I'll be twenty-eight for the next one, and I might not even make the team. I've been preparing for this my whole life, and somehow I still find myself distracted.

My mind should be on the tournament, on what's at stake, and it is, but not entirely. Because honestly, how can I pass up the opportunity to get to know Bella? I've been waiting so long for someone to make me feel... alive. I know it might not be the best timing, but I can't help how I feel, can I? When would we meet otherwise? As far as I know, she works full time in the US, and I live in England. This is really our only chance.

Can I do both? Give my all to my team and the World Cup while attempting to pursue her? It doesn't seem like she's going to make it easy for me, which will certainly require a lot more of my already limited time. But I think I could do it — I definitely want to.

_God, I should really be catching some sleep right now._

I groan and turn on my bed again, covering my face with the pillow, hoping that the images of Bella carry me to sleep.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

I don't have to knock twice on Seth's door, and when he opens it, he's already dressed and ready to go. I'm glad he's an eager beaver today. I don't know if I would have had it in me to wake him up without going back to bed myself, having gotten virtually no sleep last night.

As soon as we get to the field, I shake off my tiredness, ready to get my body moving. I won't get to play today, but at least I get to train with Seth. We practice free kicks and some dribbles — nothing too fancy or strenuous, just enough to get in the right frame of mind.

I beat him in free kicks, obviously, but he beats me in drills. In my defense, the kid is exceptionally fast! It's understandable, really — why he's faster than me — he's at least nine inches shorter and over forty pounds lighter… I am almost okay with the tie.

Seth looks at his watch and drops flat on the turf with a groan. "Six hours until the game."

I sit next to him, trying to balance the ball on my feet while sitting down. "Listen, kid, you can do this. What you showed during training yesterday… I've never seen anyone so fast… ever. If you can pull that off today, no one is going to stand in your way."

"Hey, can I ask you something?" Seth gets up on his elbows and looks over at me. I nod at him with a shrug. "What made you want to help me?"

"Nothing in particular." I juggle the ball between my feet and bounce it off my knees while still sitting. Not only is this good ball control practice, but also a great ab workout.

"C'mon, something must have made you change your mind."

_Yes, a feisty, tiny brunette…_

"Well, I realized this is not a one-man show. We're a team, Seth, and the emblem on the front of our shirt is more important than the name on the back."

"I see…" he says, smiling, but it doesn't look like he bought it. "So it wasn't that reporter lady." He chuckles through his words, and I look up at him in surprise, grabbing the ball with my hands.

I throw the ball at his chest and get up, deciding to just ignore his comment.

"Let's go," I say, gathering my stuff. "We have to be at the stadium at noon."

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

Even though I'm not playing, I ride with my team and help out with the warm up and practice, desperate to be involved any way I can.

Once we're done, we head to the dressing rooms and I shower and change before going to the bleachers to meet Bella.

I sit by myself in the VIP area, and I wait…

Five whole minutes of the game pass, and she's not here yet, so I text Bernard impatiently. **"Where is she?"**

"**Still shooting." **At least his answer is prompt.

_Dammit._

Two more minutes pass, and I am unable to sit still anymore. At least the game seems even — both teams in control and playing well — even though it's still too early to say.

I stand in front of my seat, one hand pulling at my hair, until Bella arrives.

She hurries to the seat next to me, her heels clicking along the way, and an eager smile on her face. Luckily, she's not wearing one of those skirts today, although the distraction might have been welcomed.

"What did I miss?" she asks as she sits. I look at how she crosses her legs in those tight jeans and decide she actually doesn't need the skirts to distract me.

"Not much." I sink next to her and try to relax as the game continues.

There are three defenders marking Seth. He dribbles past each of them. Every single one of them fouls him, but Seth somehow keeps running, controlling the ball, without letting himself fall.

"That could've easily been a free kick, if he had let himself fall." Elbows on my knees, I rest my chin on my hands with a huff.

"I like Seth's style," Bella says, her eyes on the game. "Look at his control of the ball. Even from the ground! Look at that!"

"Yeah... yeah..."

"I hate divers."

"I'm not a diver!" I snap back defensively, facing her.

"I didn't say you were." She turns her gaze to me, a smile tugging at her lips.

I've been criticized for diving before, so I know she's teasing me, but I can't help it — I take this shit seriously! "Besides, it's not diving if they foul you."

My tone comes out condescending, and now I know I've done it… Sweet Bella is gone and Tiny Terror comes clawing out. "If they foul you, and you let yourself fall, even though you could've kept going, that's diving." She has her index finger up, pointing, emphasizing.

"That's football."

If she thinks she can teach _me _about football…

"It doesn't have to be that way. Look at Seth!"

_So stubborn…_

"Jesus Christ, woman!" I rub my hand over my face. "I thought you were going to help me calm down, not annoy me to insanity."

She opens her mouth, as if she is going to say something else, but then her lips snap shut and she takes a deep breath. "Sorry." A sweet smile slowly spreads on her face.

Unable to resist reciprocating her smile, I exhale loudly and turn my attention back to the field.

The game continues tight, both teams playing defensively, not risking it. I think I've shifted on my seat about a hundred times in a matter of minutes. I hate sitting down for long periods of time. My legs can't stop bouncing. My hands shift from my knees, to my face, to my hair, to my neck.

Seth is showing some amazing skills, speed and control of the ball, but being completely unassisted at the front doesn't translate to goals. Eric is totally useless, and I'd be surprised if he's touched the ball more than five times.

The minutes pass, and I can't contain the colorful expletives that leave my mouth; I also can't contain myself in my seat anymore. I pace in front of Bella, biting my nails absentmindedly. She keeps pulling on my shirt, asking me to relax and sit down — saying I'm blocking her view — but I can't. I hate being on the outside. I hate watching my team struggle. I hate not being able to help.

"This is fucking torture!"

Almost forty minutes into the first half, Seth is fouled hard from behind and this time he goes down.

"Oh no!" Bella is next to me in a flash, her hand around my elbow.

I fist my hair and pull at it hard.

_He's okay... he's okay... he's okay._

Seth covers his eyes with his arm — he seems to be in pain. The ref shows a yellow card to the Italian defender, and he apologizes to Seth. The medics are dousing Seth's ankle with numbing spray and helping him up. He limps twice before signaling Coach that he's okay.

I release the breath I didn't know I was holding.

Bella's hand is patting slightly on my back. "He's okay," she says. "He's going to take the free kick."

The kick is just outside of the box. I mentally calculate the distance and angle between the ball and the net. It's not perfect for Seth's left foot, but it's doable if he aims for the right corner of the goal.

The Italians arrange the wall as Seth prepares for his kick. Instead of being focused on the ball, or the net, he's looking to the sides… saying something to Jasper.

"Focus on the ball, kid — on the ball!" I yell at him uselessly.

When he takes the kick, the ball goes over the wall, heading for the right corner, but bounces off the crossbar. He runs a hand down his face and looks over to the bench, right below where we are sitting, disappointment written all over his face.

I sink on my chair with a huff, and Bella sits down next to me.

"He's doing well," she says with a hand on my arm, as if she knows what her touch does to me.

I turn my attention over to her and she gives me a small smile, but before I can say anything, her phone starts ringing.

"I gotta go." She looks at the phone sheepishly and stands up. "I'll be back for the second half."

I nod at her with a weak smile before she leaves.

I gruelingly return my attention to the field, and the five minutes remaining of the game go on without much happening. Once the ref whistles the end of the first half, I head to the locker rooms.

I find Seth in the infirmary, having his ankle taped. He's propped on his elbows, wincing as the medic tests his ankle.

"You okay?" As soon as he sees me, he composes his face — kid's trying to be brave. "You should tell Waylon if you're in pain. You shouldn't play like that."

"I'm okay. Just preventing it from twisting again."

"Seth—"

"What, did they send you in to do a Miyagi on me?"

"Do a Miyagi on you?" I struggle to keep a straight face through that sentence.

"You know, that ancient Japanese healing ritual—"

"I know who Miyagi is," I interrupt him before he can ruin his "joke" any further. "I would just never say 'do a Miyagi'... sounds like you mean something else."

"How would you say it, then?"

"I might say 'go Miyagi on your ass'... maybe. But I don't know if that works either."

"Oh..."

"And for the record, if you have to explain a joke, it most likely didn't work."

Seth laughs and looks down. "Okay."

"Listen, kid, don't worry about the free kick. You've been a real nightmare to the defenders. I don't think they'll be able to keep up with you for another forty-five. Just continue doing what you're doing, and keep your eyes on the ball."

He gets down from the examining table and tests his foot on the floor a couple times, not showing any signs of pain.

"Are you sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine," he says, jumping in front of me, rolling his shoulders, cracking his neck, getting ready to go back out on the field.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

When I go back to my seat, Bella is not there yet. I start getting anxious — my legs start bouncing. I wish I could just jump on a treadmill or something. Just sitting here drives me insane. I palm my face as I see the players come out. I observe Seth carefully. He does seem fine, so I try to relax.

_God, I'd give anything to be able to play.  
_  
_Where the fuck is Bella?_

A couple minutes after the ref starts the second half, and before I completely lose my mind, I hear her heels clicking my way. I turn to see her, a relieved smirk on my face.

_Thank fucking God she's here.  
_  
She rushes to me and sinks on her seat. "How's Seth doing?"

"He's okay, I think. He even tried to crack a joke. He did poorly… but still."

"Aww... He's a sweetie, isn't he? Are you guys close?"

I snort at her term of endearment for Seth. "Not really. I don't know... He's a pain in the ass."

"He probably just looks up to you, you know?"

"Yeah, yeah… Look where it got him so far — suspended one game, trying to do everything by himself the other. What a nice role model, huh?"

"Hey, stop." Her hand brushes my arm again. "You've tried to make it better, right?"

"Guess who got up at four this morning to practice free kicks with him?"

"Is that why you look so tired?"

Her question surprises me, and I look at her carefully. Her eyes are so telling I can feel her concern through her gaze. I don't think I want to get into the fact that waking up at four would have been all right if she hadn't kept me up all night. So I go for a "yeah" and a shrug instead.

"That was very nice of you, Cullen."

"I told you I can be nice." My fingers run over hers, and when I'm starting to get excited by the fact she hasn't pulled her hand away, her cell phone starts ringing and she grabs it out of her purse.

"One sec." She raises a finger to me. "Paul? What's up?" she says into the phone.

I wonder who the fuck Paul is, and why is he interrupting our moment.

"What does that have to do with anything?" She frowns, not looking at me.

I want to turn my attention back to the game, but I can only manage to look in the direction of the field. Everything else is invested in the woman sitting next to me, who seems to get more and more annoyed with this Paul guy by the second.

"Oookay then, gonna hang up now, bye." And with a huff, she angrily presses her finger on the phone.

"Is everything okay?"

"Yeah," she says dismissively, with a fake smile plastered on her face, pretending to be immersed in the game.

I look over to the field as well, deciding I could ask her about this later.

The game continues the same way the first half ended. Seth is still trying his best. He's had a couple of chances, but he hasn't been able to finish. He's wearing the defense out, though — I can see that — but whether he's wearing himself out as well remains to be seen.

As the Italian defenders get tired, they start fouling Seth more. There's a guy blatantly grabbing Seth's shirt, pulling him back, but the kid keeps running, keeps controlling the ball, until he's fouled down.

_I need to teach this kid how to dive._

There's another free kick, but this time Seth lets Eric take it. I can't even watch as Eric sets the ball down. The angle is wrong. The positioning is wrong. He only takes three steps back. The ball just hits the wall.

"Goddammit!" I punch the chair in front of me. I could have taken that. I would have made that shot.

_Shit!_

I'm panting as if I'm the one running down there, while I hold my hand to my chest. When I feel Bella's fingers around my wrist, I close my eyes and try to breathe.

"Edward, calm down," she says sweetly next to me.

I let her wrap her hand around mine, but I keep my eyes closed and concentrate on breathing my anger away.

"Try to channel you anger." Her tone is soft, soothing, but I want to laugh… bitterly, of course.

_What could I possibly channel my anger to?_ There's nothing for me to do but sit here and watch. I can't even fucking kiss her because I promised I wouldn't unless she wanted me to, which she clearly doesn't.

_Fuck!_

Her fingers are tracing circles on my palm, and I try to focus on that. Even though my hand should be throbbing from hitting the chair, her touch is numbing, and I breathe out in relief.

I can't believe what a fucking pussy I am. My teammates are busting their asses against the Italians, and I'm fucking having an anxiety attack, with a girl holding my hand. I groan in frustration.

"Sorry..." Bella exhales through her nose. "You hurt your knuckles again."

I don't feel the pain in my hand until I look at it — funny how the brain works.

They're really not that bad, just scrapes. I take my hand away from her and rest it on top of my bouncing knee, deciding I don't deserve her comforting touch. Seth is playing with a twisted ankle — I can deal with bruised knuckles.

When we pass the eightieth minute, I think I might have bitten my fingernails raw. I'm exhausted just by looking at my team run. I'm pacing again, sweating through my fucking designer clothes.

That's when it happens.

Seth receives a cross from Jasper on his chest then controls it with his feet, right at the midfield, where he begins his run. He flies like a rocket past one, then another of the Italians. He dribbles around one of the defenders and then squishes through two more, right in the middle. And then it's just him and the goalie. When I think he's going to shoot, he dribbles again, leaving the goalkeeper behind, so that it's just Seth and that goal.

When he puts the ball easily into the left corner, my heart skips a beat — I can't fucking believe it!

Cheering surrounds me as I watch Seth turn around and face the bench's direction, with a smile that's too big for his face, like he can't believe it either. With his arms wide open, he lets himself fall on the turf, while our other teammates pile on top of him.

I turn over to Bella and smile at the adorable sight next to me. She is up and jumping in excitement — her arms over her head as she screams. Her eyes lie on me, and in the next second, she slams into my body and her arms surround my neck.

"He did it!" she squeals as my arms lock around her, holding her to me.

Before I know it, my lips are on hers.

She inhales sharply and a little moan escapes her lips. But just as suddenly, her hand is on my chest — pushing instead of pulling — and I let her go.

"Shit, I'm sorry," I say, only because I have to.

I'm not sorry for kissing her, but I did promise her I wouldn't unless she wanted me to… and yet here we are.

"No… um… I'm sorry." She looks down at her hands, all flustered.

I allow myself a second to gather my thoughts, and even though the game resumes, I'm unable to turn away from Bella. I'm very much aware that these last few minutes will be crucial for my team making it or not, but I am overwhelmed and completely paralyzed by the woman in front of me and my lack of adequate words to say to her.

Her cell phone starts ringing then, and she pulls it out of her purse with a groan. "I gotta go." Without looking at me, she hurries away.

I run my hands down my face and try to relax. I know she's supposed to be working, but I still want to smash that fucking cellphone of hers into a steel beam.

_Dammit!_

The last ten minutes of the game are excruciating to watch, especially without Bella sitting next to me. The Italians turn over the attack and get a couple of chances, but luckily, our defense is standing strong.

By the last few seconds, I'm pacing in front of my seat, my hands on top of my head, pulling at my hair. I can't take this anymore. I look at my watch repeatedly, wondering if it's broken or if time is actually dragging on. When the ref whistles the end of the game, I sink on my seat with an exhausted huff.

They did it. We made it. The US is in the World Cup finals for the first time ever!

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

The dressing room is euphoric with jumping and singing and chants. Seth is tripping — the kid can't fucking stop smiling. He even forgets to pretend not to limp. Waylon is ecstatic, to the point he gives us the night off. He advises us we should use it to rest, and keep our eyes on the prize, but a night off is a night off… so resting isn't in my plans.

When they announce that ESPN, and Miss Swan, are coming for an in-dressing room interview, I get edgy. Most of the guys in here are half naked — this is no place for her to be. I'm about to complain to Waylon about it, when in she comes, framed by her cameraman.

The celebrations continue as Bella documents some of it. When she asks Seth if she can interview him, the kid looks like he's about to pee his pants, but with a smile, he agrees. He manages to say a couple coherent sentences, between ers and ums, until Yorkie comes behind him, a towel spread with shaving cream in his hands, ready for Seth's face.

Seth laughs and smiles his way through it, trying to wipe the shaving cream from his eyes. Bella helps him, laughing herself. I find myself wishing _I_ was the one getting creamed so she would have her fingers on _my_ face.

When she gets ready to leave, I rise from the bench and trail behind her. Once outside of the dressing room, I call for her. "Miss Swan?" She turns around, and so does her Neanderthal puppy. "Could I have a word with you?"

She faces the dog in question and whispers something to him. I'm relieved when he leaves without her having to touch him, so I come closer.

"You can stop with the formalities," she sneers. "They have us on video, kissing."

I chuckle. "Oh…"

"It's not funny."

"C'mon… It's a little funny. Who cares, really?"

"I do!"

"We were caught up in the moment — in the celebration. I think they'll cut us some slack."

"Is that so?"

"You can blame me," I offer with a shrug.

"I already did," she scoffs, her arms crossing over her chest.

"Okay, Tee-Tee, I'm sorry." I tentatively reach a finger to her arm. I think her anger melts a little bit at my nickname for her — taking the bitter expression on her face away with it — so I make my move. "Go out with me tonight."

"What?"

"Waylon gave us the night off. I'd like to take a walk around the city, and I'd love for you to join me."

"Tonight? I thought you were tired." Her hands move to her hips as her gaze scrutinizes me.

"I'm fine. Please?"

She takes a deep breath, but I could swear there's a smile tugging at her lips. "Okay."

I feel no need to hide my smile. "Pick you up in an hour?"

She nods before she turns around and leaves. I stare at her retreating form until she disappears down the corridor.

_T-minus one hour for a second date with Bella Swan — my Tiny Terror._

**A/N:**

1000 virtual gummy bears to whoever tells me who Paul is? Hehehe

I'm a little behind in answering reviews, but I promise I'll get to all of them.

See you Saturday for date number two! ;)

Ronnie.


	9. Chapter 9 We've Got Tonight

**Disclaimer: Stephenie Meyer owns _Twilight_. No copyright infringement is intended.**

**A/N:** Thanks to my lovely pre-readers Jaxy (Jax713) and Packy (_LittleLovely_) and my rock star beta Mel (mcc101180).

**Chapter 9. We've got tonight.**

We pick up Bella at her hotel around nine. Bernard drives us to Lapa, this little historical neighborhood in the middle of the city, where the locals go to have fun. As I have come to learn, Bella and I share the need to experience places in a non-touristy way.

When I tell her what the plan is, she turns to look at me. "We're just going to get out of the car and stroll the streets…"

"Yeah…" I shrug.

"You…" She points a finger at me. "_You_ are just gonna walk around the streets of Lapa."

"Why not?"

"And you are okay with this?" She moves between the front seats and faces Bernard.

"Me?" Bernard seems as surprised as me that she's asking for his opinion.

"Yes, Bernie, you."

"Well, I've made my concerns about the evening's plans clear to Mr. Cullen, Miss Swan." He glances at me through the rearview mirror. We had this discussion before picking Bella up. Of course he's not happy about it, but what's the worst that could happen...

Bella rolls her eyes before she sits back next to me.

"What happened to 'I'm Mr. Big Deal, I can't just walk out in the sunlight'?" Her tone is mocking, but there's still an edge of concern there.

"Well, it's dark out now, Bella," I deadpan, smirking at her.

"I'm serious. It's crowded." She peeks through the window and then turns to face me again.

"It will be fine. I've got my full 'I-blend-in' ensemble on." I wave a hand down my graphic tee and trunks. She relaxes a bit, but still doesn't seem convinced. I run a hand through my hair and put my L.A. Dodgers' cap on. "See? I'm just like every other guy out there."

"No, you're not." She snorts through her words, but the smile that remains on her face tells me that I've won this argument.

"C'mon, just one normal night."

The streets are filled with streetlights and people, and the joy and carefreeness is palpable. As soon as we get out of the car, the music consumes you and you can't help but just be happy. On instinct, as we walk through the crowd, my hand surrounds Bella's. There are people dancing around us, laughing, singing... no one really pays attention to us. It is truly one of the happiest places I've ever been in my life.

That is, of course, until a guy grabs Bella for a "dance," and my hand is around his neck in the next second. "Get your hands off her."

He says something which I can't understand, but it still sounds like he's slurring.

"Edward!" Bella's hand is around my wrist. "Edward, it's okay. He's harmless."

My hand loosens around his neck as soon as Bernard grabs him by the shoulder.

"Are you okay?" I ask Bella, one hand on her cheek.

"Yeah," she says through a laugh. "You need to relax. He was just dancing."

"_Dancing_? He was humping your leg like a horny dog!"

"All right," Bella says with her hands on her hips. "Do we have to keep Bernie around, or are you going to behave?"

Bernard is standing behind her, struggling to compose his face after getting rid of the intruder. It seems like "Bernie" is completely smitten with Miss Swan. Who would have thought that such a giant, frigid guy would have a soft spot for tiny pain-in-the-asses?

I look around us. I really don't want Bernard tailing us, but there are a lot of people in this place, and I don't want anything to happen to Bella. After agreeing on Bernard staying behind, but at a close enough distance, Bella and I resume our walk.

We don't get very far though, when we are stopped again, this time by a little kid who runs into me and wraps his arms around my knees.

"Hey, there." My hand reaches for his head as a crouch in front of him. He's wearing the US National jersey with my name and number on it.

"It's really you!" The little one's eyes are about to jump out of their sockets.

I look up at Bella, who's scanning the crowd nervously. "It is me, buddy. But do you think we can keep it our little secret?"

I have a hand on his shoulder as he nods fervently. He looks to both sides before he speaks in the tiniest of whispers. "You are my favorite player in the whole world."

A grin stretches my lips, and when I peek at Bella, her attention is on us now, a sizable smile on her face as well.

The kid moves closer to the side of my face, one hand covering his mouth. "Can you sign my shirt?" he whispers in my ear.

Luckily, Bella has a pen in her purse, and I'm barely done signing his shirt when a lady comes running to us.

"Jason! There you are!"

When I get up, her eyes fly to my face. I keep a weak smile in place as I see her slowly recognizing me. Little Jason walks to her and grabs her hand. "It's not him, mom," he says, pulling her away from us.

She still seems suspicious but she turns around regardless. As they walk away, Jason turns his head back and smiles at me. I return his smile and wave goodbye at him.

Bella and I wander around the streets of Lapa for a couple hours, and after more failed attempts at samba dancing than I am comfortable admitting, we end up at the shore.

The night is clear and the beach is virtually desolated. There's a bench on the sand, overlooking the water, where we sit. I stretch my arms over my head and rub my neck, the sleep deprivation slowly catching up with me, but I'll be damned if I waste these minutes with Bella.

"You look really tired." Bella picks up on it instantly.

"I'm all right."

"Do you have training tomorrow?"

"We do… but it's an easy one. Open to the fans, and our families are coming. We get some time with them afterward."

"I can't believe it's almost over." She kicks off her heels and hugs her knees to her chest, looking far into the ocean. "Three days 'til the final."

With the smoothness that characterizes me, I stretch my arm over the back of the bench, around her shoulders, and very slightly brush the tips of my fingers down her arm. Content that she doesn't flinch away, I gaze at the ocean and the dark sky above it.

My thoughts come and go with each break of the waves onto the shore. I think about the game against Italy, and how well Seth did. I think about preparing for our next game against Brazil, and what it means for the US to be in the finals for the first time. But mostly, I think about the woman sitting next to me, and how good it feels to have her under my arm — to care for her. She just fits perfectly beside me, around me. I could stay here for hours, gazing into the water, in complete silence, with her by my side.

When she sighs, I look over to her, wondering what is troubling her mind.

"This will all be over soon, and then it's back to L.A." Her voice is so small that I'm not even sure she meant for me to hear it, but I'm having none of it — I won't let her be down during our time together.

"Hey, we've got tonight." I get up from the bench and extend my hand to her. What seemed like a brilliant idea at the time pops into my head.

"What are we doing?" she questions, but grabs my hand regardless.

"We're dancing," I say, pulling her from the bench.

"What if I don't want to?"

"I could always make you." I bend my knees, wrap one arm around her, and when I get up, she's off the floor and we're twirling. "It's that easy."

She giggles into my shoulder as her legs swing around.

"I know it's late…" The melody is all wrong, but I think I remember the lyrics well enough. "I know you're weary."

"What?"

I clear my throat. "I know your plaaaans… er… something, something…"

She giggles in realization that I am attempting to sing. "Maybe you should stick to playing soccer."

"Still here we are…" I continue, letting her teasing slide. "Both of us lonely, longing for… er… shelter? From all that we seeee…"

My eyes fix on her, and I drown in a sea of brown, forgetting the song, the time, the day, and my promise to her.

As my face inches closer to her, she opens her mouth. "Why should we wooooorry?"

I laugh hard as she continues the song. "No one will care, girl… Look at the skyyyyy, so far away."

My chuckles die down as I search her eyes. The rest of the song comes out in a whisper. "We've got tonight. Who needs tomorrow? We've got tonight, girl. Why don't you stay?"

Chuckling, she drops her face on my shoulder, and I can't help but bury my nose in her hair.

"I blame my dad for all this cheesiness, but hey… it worked on my mom."

She lifts her head from my shoulder, her arms still around my neck. In an attempt to hide the fact that my ears are burning in embarrassment — and the tingling on my cheeks is probably an indication that I'm blushing — I try for a shrug and a smirk.

Bella is not fooled though. She's looking far into my eyes, her breathing accelerated from her laughter, and since I still have her held up against me, it reverberates inside of me as we breathe in unison.

My smile falters as my eyes dart to her bottom lip, trapped between her teeth. I secure one arm under her ass, supporting her weight, to free my other one. My hand brushes some of her hair away from her face before it rests over her cheek.

"I know I promised I wouldn't kiss you unless you wanted me to, but it's becoming unbearable."

"Edward, please." She closes her eyes and exhales shakily — her warm breath leaving goose bumps on my neck.

Her hand moves to my chest, pushing slightly. I slowly set her back on the sand and step away, needing a minute to cool off.

"I think we should go." She toes the sand as she speaks.

"Is that really what you want?"

"No. But it's what I need," she whispers, her eyes on the sand.

_How do I argue with that?_

She smoothes her shirt as I take off my hat and run a hand through my hair, failing at trying to come up with an efficient way to get back to our lighter mood.

Through heavy eyelids, I stare at her as she picks up her heels from the sand. My hand travels to my neck to try to rub away some of the tension as I stretch my back. Staying up all night was stupid, but not by choice. If she'd give me the chance though, I'd stay up all night again, just to be with her.

When her eyes meet mine, I smile at her as if her constant rejection doesn't wound my ego.

Her eyes light up when she smiles back, so I reach for her hand tentatively, relieved when she intertwines her fingers with mine. We make our way through Lapa's streets, heading back hand in hand.

"Well, well, well… what do we have here?" I hear his voice before I see him. Instinctively, I move my body in front of Bella's as my eyes search for any sign of Bernard.

Gustavo smiles, swaying, a plastic cup in his hand. I don't see any of the other Brazilians with him, but I'm guessing they had the night off as well.

He opens his mouth to say something, but before he can, I interrupt him, knowing very well where this is going. "Not tonight, Gustavo." I don't know if it's the fact that I am drained, or the calming feeling Bella's hand in mine produces, but I don't want to fight. I don't care what he says.

Except I do care, because the words he chooses next are the worst possible ones, and they freeze me dead in my tracks.

"A different one each night, Cullen, eh?"

Bella's hand circles my elbow as I turn to face Gustavo, fuming.

"I like this one," he continues. "Petite — tight."

My fist clenches at my side, aching to break his face. My breath comes roughly through my nose with the effort of remaining still. I know he's provoking me, looking for a reaction — my body shakes in anger as I try to not give in. Last time I let him get to me, Seth and I ended up at the police station.

"Edward…" Bella pulls at my arm, one hand still in mine, the other tightening around my elbow.

I close my eyes and try to focus on the fact that Bella is here with me, and I don't know where Bernard is. Before Gustavo can say anything else, I march in the opposite direction, dragging Bella behind me.

"Slow down," Bella says behind me, but I can't. If I don't get far away enough from him, I won't be able to control myself. "Edward, please. Stop," she begs, but I don't, not until we are back at the shore.

I stand on the sand, panting, a growl resonating in my chest. I let go of Bella's hand and pull at my hair, the force of the unresolved anger threatening to swallow me whole.

I drop on the bench, groaning because I can't fucking believe I let him get away with it after he basically called Bella a whore. Or he called me a whore and implied Bella is just another girl for me.

"Hey…" Bella's voice is soft as she stands in front of me.

"Bella, I'm… you're not… what he said… I'm not… that's not what this is." I stumble through my words as I try futilely to control my breathing.

"It's okay."

"No, it's not! I was like that, but I'm not anymore."

My head is still in my hands when she reaches for it. She traces her fingers softly behind my ear, in my hair. With each brush, I sink deeper into her touch.

My breathing slows, the growl in my chest ceases, and my whole body slumps against her hand.

"How do you do that?" I exhale loudly and her fingers stop. "Please, don't stop," I beg, my eyes fluttering closed.

"Promise me you'll get some sleep tonight."

"Mmmmhmmmm…"

"Come on, let's go," she says with a hand on my shoulder. "You're falling asleep already."

"It's your fault," I say, opening my eyes, peeking up at her. "You calm me too much."

She holds her hand out with a smile and I take it eagerly, getting up from the bench. We head to the car, and Bernard, without any more inconvenient events.

When we get to her hotel, I get out and walk her to the door.

"Thanks for tonight," she says with a smile.

"Please come to the open training tomorrow," I blurt out before she can move away from me. Her eyes widen at my persistence. She's wrong if she thinks I'll give up so easily. I wouldn't be here if I was a quitter. "We get a couple hours with family and friends and a dinner afterward."

"Edward…"

"What? Family and friends," I explain. "C'mon."

"I don't want to distract you."

"Too late." I chuckle.

She sighs and looks down.

"What do you want me to say? That you're not in my every thought? I've made myself clear to you, Bella. You know what I want, but you'll have to make the next move. I'm just inviting you over to hang out. You know? Family and friends… you're my friend, right?"

She doesn't look convinced.

"Listen, I promised. I won't make a move on you. I've already tried and well… I just… I don't have a lot of time, but we're both here now… I would like to have you close."

She looks up at me and a small smile tugs at her lips. "Okay."

"Okay?"

"Yes, I'll be there." When a grin lights up her face, I exhale in relief.

"Thank you."

"Get some rest tonight." She points a finger at me and raises her eyebrows in pretend bossiness. As long as she keeps saying yes to me, she can boss me around all she wants…

"I will," I say, walking backward to the car. "Goodnight."

A smile is glued on my face as I get in the car. Bernard is having trouble containing his own.

"Shut up, _Bernie_…" I scowl at him as we drive through the streets of Rio de Janeiro, back to my hotel.

_T-minus ten hours to see my family and Bella again._

**A/N:** The song "We've got tonight" belongs to Bob Seger. If you have not heard it, here's Phillip Phillips' cover (bit . ly/JJyZZN) Just remove the spaces and swoon!

Also, no one gets gummy bears yet. ;)

Happy weekend!

Ronnie.


	10. Chapter 10 Family Day

**Disclaimer: Stephenie Meyer owns **_**Twilight**_**. No copyright infringement is intended.**

**A/N:** Are you guys ready for the Cullens?

Thanks to my lovely pre-readers Jaxy (Jax713) and Packy (_LittleLovely_) and my rock star beta Mel (mcc101180).

**Chapter 10. Family Day.**

I wake up startled by the Star Wars theme coming from my phone. I can only manage a groan as I press the answer button and bring the offending device over to my ear.

"Wake up, wake up, wake up, wake up." A high-pitched squeal comes from the phone, and I have to pull it away from my head for fear of hearing loss.

"Alice…"

"We're here!"

"Already?" I groan, turning on my bed.

"Mom wanted to get good seats."

"I told you guys I already got you good seats." I rub my eyes and look at the clock. "Thing doesn't start 'til nine." I sigh when I realize it's seven already, and I should be up.

"You know how Mom is..." my sister says, and I can hear my mom behind her. "She's making us wear your jersey."

I smile as I sit on the bed, rubbing my neck.

"Oh my God, E. I can't wait to see you! I have so much to tell you."

Not much family time has been allowed since the World Cup started, so even though my parents have been watching every game, today will be the first time I actually get to see them. My sister, on the other hand, just arrived in Brazil for the finals. She's been busy with her first year of college, and now in summer session, like the little overachiever that she is.

"I know, kiddo. We'll talk soon, okay?"

"Oh, and Edward?"

"Yeah?"

"That ref at the game against England was a fucking asshole!"

_"Mary Alice Cullen!" _I can hear my mom behind her.

"You foul-mouthed midget," I say, chuckling into the phone. "Good luck getting away with that one."

"Hey, I learned from the best."

"Okay, I'll meet you guys there in a bit." I get up from the bed and stretch my back.

"See you soon, big brother."

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

There's an unexpectedly large amount of people at the training field. My family, of course, is sitting in the first row. When I come out with my teammates, I'm pleasantly surprised that no one is booing — there's actually cheering going on. I wonder if my declarations to the press were that effective, or if my fans are just bipolar.

I walk quickly to my family before we begin the session. My mom is already up, leaning on the rail, reaching for me. She embraces me in a hug before I can say hello.

"Edward." She breathes out in relief. My mother, forever struggling to keep her emotions at bay.

Once my mom releases me, I ruffle my sister's hair and half hug my dad.

"How are you, son?" my dad asks in his usual soft, composed tone.

"I'm all right." I shrug at him and he pats my back.

"You definitely seem calmer," he says, raising his eyebrows.

The last time I was on the phone with my dad was right after the England game... I wasn't at my best.

"I am..." I say, smiling. The clicking sound draws my attention back to my mother who, camera in hand, is already flashing away.

"Mom..."

"Hush... Alice, smile," she instructs as my sister closes her arms around my neck.

After a couple pictures, and once Couch Clapp starts blowing the whistle, I head to training.

We start jogging, but I can't seem to focus until I see Bernard and, more importantly, the barely-over-five-feet woman walking next to him. I'm smiling and waving at her like an idiot, when I trip over what seems to be Seth's foot. When I look at him, I realize he's done it on purpose, as he's unable to contain his laughter.

"You little piece of shit."

He's laughing hard as he continues to jog, leaving me with no other option but to follow. I'll have to come up with a way to get back at him.

After training, they set up a couple tables for us to attend to fans. I sit next to Seth as we sign jerseys and take pictures.

As the lines start to die down, I notice how Seth tenses next to me and stretches his pose over the chair. I turn to look at him, when I notice the strawberry blonde, freckled-face girl standing in front of him, making goo-goo eyes at him, holding his jersey in her hands. She smiles broadly at him as she hands him the shirt.

I look at Seth, who seems to have lost his ability to speak all of the sudden. He opens his mouth a couple times, but no sound comes out. He's leaning back on the chair, balancing it on the two back legs, making it way too easy for me. One nudge with my foot and he's falling backward.

I snort as the girl giggles. It takes Seth a second to jump back to his feet.

I look at him and shake my head.

"I'm Seth," he says shakily, extending his hand to the girl.

"I know that." The girl giggles, looking down.

_Are these two for real?_

"What's… um… what's your name?" I'm tempted to face palm myself as Seth stutters.

"I'm Lucy."

"Nice to meet you, Lucy."

_Very smooth, kid._

I return my attention to the guy holding a little kid in front of me, and continue signing, as I leave the two awkward birds be next to me.

Once we are done signing autographs, the fans are dismissed, and they let our families out onto the field.

I smile at Bella and, with a hand on the small of her back, steer her in the direction of my parents.

"Mom, Dad, this is Isabella Swan."

"Bella," she says, shaking their hands.

"She's a reporter for ESPN," I continue. "But don't worry, she's not working today."

"Actually…" Bella extricates a camera out of her purse. "I was hoping I could take some pictures." She shoots me sheepish look, and then turns to my parents. "It's a little hobby of mine."

_Oh great..._

"Well, what do you know?" my father says, wrapping an arm around my mother's shoulders, as she smiles broadly at Bella. "Another photographer aficionado."

When my sister comes closer — from wherever the hell she was — her smile doesn't fit on her face as she looks over at me and then Bella.

"Bella, this is my sister, Munchkin-head."

"Edward!" My sister frowns at me, swatting at my arm. "I'm Alice," she says, extending her hand to Bella.

Before Bella can answer, I wrap my arm around my sister's shoulders and start ruffling her hair.

"Stop!" she shrieks from under me.

"Munchkin, c'mon, I've missed you. Fight back!"

My sister, who usually laughs and plays along with me, is now rigid under my arms, and when I let her go, she's death-staring at me, her face crimson red.

_Are those tears in her eyes? What the hell?_

"Hey, kiddo, I'm sorry. I was just messing with you."

"I'm NOT a little kid anymore!" She stomps away and I look over to my parents, who exchange a knowing look. I want to ask if it's that time of the month for her, but I've learned the hard way to never, _ever_, bring that up.

When Alice returns, she has fixed her hair and her outfit, and it's looking spotless again. I smile at the purple Chucks she's wearing — the ones I gave her for Christmas. She ignores me and starts talking to Bella. I feel a little guilty, but before I can apologize, Jasper comes to say hello.

"Mr. Cullen." He nods to my dad. "Mrs. Cullen." My mom joins him in a hug.

His hands go in his pockets as he greets my sister with a tiny nod. "Alice."

I look over at my sister, realizing her mood has suddenly shifted and she's now all smiles for Jasper.

_It must really be that time of the month...  
_

The field is suddenly splattered with kids — the children of some of my teammates — and both Bella and my mother get their cameras ready.

"The future of US soccer," Bella comments, crouching on the grass. "Their lives will be forever tied to this."

"We've been at this since he was six." My mother is at my side, smiling at me.

"You started playing when you were six?" Bella turns to look up at me.

I know she knew this already, but she's probably just playing along with my mother, so I nod at her.

"Take a look at this," my mom says, fishing for her cell phone in her bag. "His first game." My mom proudly displays that god-awful background picture of hers.

"Awww…" Bella squeals in amusement.

"Mom…"

"It's adorable," Bella says, standing up.

"Which part? The bowl haircut or the no front teeth?"

Bella smiles at me, nudging me on the side with her shoulder. "All of it."

She looks at the pic for a few seconds, before handing the cell phone back to my mother. Emmett comes behind her, holding his son who is dressed in full US uniform. The boy is kind of adorable, with curls like Emmett's but blond hair like Emmett's wife, Rosalie.

"Hey, Edward, since your family is here and all... do you mind watching over Collin for a bit... like twenty minutes."

Rosalie clears her throat behind him, so he rectifies. "Thirty-five."

I look around and my mom is back at taking pictures, and my sister has once again disappeared.

I turn to Bella at my side, and she gives me an encouraging smile.

"Sure..." I say to Emmett with a shrug.

"Oh, man, I owe you." Emmett hands me his kid, and he and Rosalie disappear before I can say anything else.

I smile at the kid in my arms. It's not the first time Collin and I have hung out. He's a cool dude.

"Okay, little dood, wanna shoot some PKs?"

I spend the next half hour playing with Collin, while Bella takes pictures of us. He kicks the ball, and I pretend not to be able to catch it, falling on the turf. Every time, it makes him giggle. Every time, he jumps on me afterward. One time, he knees me in the nuts, making him, and Bella, giggle harder.

Overall, and blinding pain notwithstanding, we have a good time.

Once Emmett and Rosalie return, we gather our stuff to leave. We take showers and meet our families outside again. We're supposed to go back to the hotel and get ready for the sponsors dinner.

My mother, bless her heart, is quick to ask Bella, "Will you join us for dinner?"

Bella looks over to me, and I stare back expectantly — no one can say no to my mother.

"Of course."

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

I fumble with my tie a couple times until I get it right. Tonight is one of those occasions I can't get out of wearing a suit. My dark gray Armani sauna-with-sleeves sits on the bed, where it will stay until the last possible minute. I run some water on my hair, trying to tame it, before I give up on the impossible task and just settle for leaving it as is.

When I get out of the elevator and head for the dining hall, I'm tired but eager to get to dinner and Bella. As I go up the steps, I recognize Bernard's huge form and, behind him, the reason for my sleepless nights. I miss a step, and almost fall on my face, while I hold on to the railing, trying not to make a fool of myself — a bigger one that is.

Bella is wearing a little black dress... with um... ruffles... and... it's strapless. Her shoes are at least five inches high, and they make her legs look endless. I think I might be drooling.

I make it to the top of the stairs unscathed, but a little out of breath.

"Bella..." I breathe out. Her hair is down and wavy, and she runs a hand over it, pushing it over to one side. "You look stunning."

She looks down, embarrassed, but smiles. "Thank you," she says. "You clean up nice as well."

I give Bernard the "get-lost" sign and offer my arm to Bella, as we go in the dining hall.

Dinner goes over smoothly. Jasper sits at our table, since his family could not make it. Emmett and Rosalie join us too with little Collin who sits on my mom's lap the whole time. Seth sits at a different table since it seems like every Clearwater in the world is here for him.

Conversation flows easily as I manage to make two important accomplishments. The first, loosening my tie and opening the strangling collar of my shirt. The second, getting my hand comfortably on Bella's thigh under the table. If it were to end here, I would call the night a success.

Waylon gives an embarrassing speech, thanking our families for supporting us, but asking our wives/girlfriends to abstain from distracting us too much. It would have been funny if he wasn't serious about it.

Once dinner is over and we head out, I smoothly get Bella's hand in mine, while we say goodbye to everybody.

Once my family is gone, and Bernard comes closer to us, ready to take Bella back to her hotel, I whisper in Bella's ear. "Would you stay for a while longer?"

"I don't know."

"Just for a little while," I press, looking into her eyes.

She bites her lower lip, eyeing me warily.

"C'mon, I'm claustrophobic in this suit. Come upstairs with me."

When she nods, I smile and dismiss Bernard.

As we go up in the empty elevator to my suite, I start getting anxious. She looks so good in that dress. Her breasts... good lord... I can see the round edges of them, pressed up against the fabric of her strapless dress… It's all I can see from up here!

I stare at the ceiling of the elevator, fumbling with my tie, loosening it more, and getting more of my shirt buttons out of the way, just to give my fingers something to do. Once the elevator doors open, I march out and as soon as we are in the room, I shed the tie and jacket altogether and breathe out in relief.

"I fucking hate wearing suits." I head for the mini fridge to get some water. When I ask if she wants something, she doesn't answer, so I turn around to face her, noticing she has followed me over and is now standing right in front of me.

"I always knew there was a real nice person in there somewhere," she says, with a finger trailing over the opening on my shirt, playing with the buttons. I drop on the bar stool, surprised by her forwardness. "I just never expected him to be so… sweet." Her other hand palms my cheek as I lose myself in her eyes.

When her face inches closer to mine, she closes her eyes and mine follow her lead. She touches her lips softly to mine, her hand moves to the back of my neck, and I wrap one arm around her.

Her kiss is sweet, gentle, but exactly what I need, what I've been waiting for — an indication that she's in this with me.

When she breaks the kiss, her hand is still on my neck. "Thank you for today. It was incredible."

"God, Bella, I've been waiting so long for you to kiss me." I exhale through my nose and peek up to see her.

"You have?" She smirks deviously as her fingers slowly twirl my hair.

My hands seize her waist, and I pull her between my legs. There are so many things I want to do to this woman, I don't even know where to start. The truth is, this never happens to me. I've never felt overwhelmed by a woman before, by my desire for her, by my needs.

Bella stares at me and I smile, lost in the truth of her eyes. I feel like I need to break the intensity somehow, before I say or do something stupid. I didn't ask her up here to sleep with me. Well, not really... I mean, not that I would be opposed to that, but...

With a sigh, I decide to make a joke before I lose my mind.

"Okay, I got my kiss. You can leave now," I say with a smirk.

She gasps and turns to leave, but I catch her elbow and swing her back into me. A giggle starts building in her chest, but it's quickly sealed inside, by my lips on hers.

Our chuckles die down as the kiss intensifies. My hands hover over her. I want so much. I want it all.

I pull her closer, between my legs. She has one hand on my hair, while the other fists my shirt. I kiss her neck, breathing deeply.

"We need to stop," she whispers in my ear, and I groan.

"Bella..." I rub my nose against her neck and trail kisses over her collarbone.

"Didn't Coach say—"

"Don't do this to me..."

"You have two intense training days coming up. The biggest game of your life right after... He said—"

"I know what he said, all right? But this..." I say, bringing her hand between my legs to feel me. "_This _is not going anywhere."

She puts her other hand on my face and brings me away from her neck, giving me a tiny smile, one that says this is not gonna happen.

_Fuck me... _

_Please._

I attack her mouth again, pushing my luck. I grind myself on her hand, getting up from the stool, pushing my body against hers. The moan that erupts from her throat is all the indication I need to grab her legs and bring her up to me.

I'm barely aware of where I am carrying her until we land on my bed. My lips never leave hers as I make up for all the time we've lost. Even though it's only been a couple days, that's 2880 minutes which translates to a whole lot of kisses.

Before I realize it, her hand has found its way over to my pants and she's undoing them. I groan into her neck as my hands go over the fabric of her dress, trying to figure out how to get it off of her.

_Is there a zipper on the back?_

Bella has a significant advantage on me — as I continue to struggle with her dress, she already has me in her hands.

I am pretty convinced Bella has glued this dress on. Or maybe it's the fact that the pleasure she's inflicting with each stroke has clouded my mind. My hands are no longer useful and now fist the sheets around her.

I give up on the dress.

_Oh, God... yes..._

_Shit... No!_

I don't want to rush this, I want to savor the moment, but if she continues stroking me, I'll be gone in point two seconds.

"Bella," I plead through a groan. "Please, baby, stop."

"Why? You were begging me not to stop half a second ago."

"I know... God... woman... please." My hand surrounds her wrist, stopping her midway through my shaft.

With my eyes shut, I try to breathe through the springing coils in my stomach, trying to impede the unstoppable.

Her hand is still clenched around me, making it impossible harder for me to focus. "Bella, please, let go. I... fuck... I need a minute. Let's enjoy this, c'mon."

"Don't you just want to get off? Isn't that what you want?" The hurt that taints her tone surprises me.

_Did I manage to offend her somehow?  
_  
When I open my eyes, I see tears and hurt in hers. _What the hell?_

"What are you talking about?" My voice is strained — her hand is still gripping me tightly.

A traitor tear falls for her eye, and she finally lets me go and wipes it in anger.

"Tee-Tee?" My hand reaches for her cheek, catching more tears.

She sits up on the bed. "This is happening too fast, Edward."

I sit up next to her, arranging myself painfully inside my boxer briefs.

"The truth is, I just got out of a pretty messed up _relationship_... if that's what you could call it, and I really think I should just be by myself right now. But then _you _come along…" she waves a hand at me and sniffles "…with your charming self, and we're in this magical place... and I got caught up in the moment. But I'm scared because this is all going to be over soon, and I don't want to get hurt again."

I'm caught off guard too, by the honesty of her words and what she just shared with me. I reach for her hand. "Bella, I'm not going to hurt you."

"Right..." She chuckles humorlessly, looking down.

"Listen to me." I grab her chin so her eyes meet mine. "We'll figure something out. I just found you — I'm not going to let you go."

"See? Why do you have to say stuff like that?" She drops her head on my chest.

I run a hand over her hair and kiss the top of her head. "I know we haven't had too much time together, and I get it if you still don't trust me, but I'm in this, Bella. I mean it. You're not gonna get rid of me so easily."

"I don't _want _to get rid of you," she says into my chest.

"Okay, good... now that that's settled." I grab her hand and bring it down over my stomach and on top of my underwear, where I'm still very much hard for her.

She giggles. "Make up your mind, Cullen. You either want me to do this or you don't."

"I don't, actually." Chuckling, I move her hand back to my chest and she sighs. As much as I would like to make this go in that direction, I can't help the sadness that overrides me, when I look at the tears that still make her lashes wet. "What did he do to you?"

I wish I knew who the bastard was, so I could inflict some pain on him for hurting her.

She blinks a couple times, uncertain. I guess she didn't expect the conversation to go this way.

"Um... what he did was a lot of models behind my back."

"He cheated on you." _God, what an idiot._

"See, I don't know if I would call it cheating. _I_ was under the impression we were in a relationship. _He_, however, was not. I was just so stupid."

"Sounds to me like he was the stupid one." I'm relieved when I see that my statement makes her smile. "So who was he, some kind of star from your network?"

"Star? More like Sport's Expert." She snorts through her words.

_Oh God, please no…_

My mind travels to the first time I saw Bella on the TV screen transmitting live for ESPN. I remember making fun of the same "sport's experts" she works with. Paul Lahote and… "Sam Uley?"

"What? No!"

_Oh, thank fuck!_

"Paul..." she whispers.

_Paul?_

_Paul!_

_Oh, for fuck's sakes!_

I shoot up from the bed running a hand through my hair. "Paul? You were with Paul? You've got to be kidding me!"

I know Paul. I cannot believe this. Suddenly something else clicks in my head. It's gotta be the same Paul that kept calling her during the game. He still calls her. He still wants her. Well, he can't have her — she's mine.

"Yeah, that Paul…" Bella's voice comes softly from the bed.

"Shit, Bella. We went to high school together. We used to play soccer together."

"I know. He brags about knowing you a lot."

"What a fucking asshole! I can't believe it!" Oh how I wish I didn't know who her ex was. I could just have a faceless son-of-a-bitch to hate on. But Paul, Paul is too real, too close. I want to hurt him.

I pace around the bedroom, not knowing what to do or how to control my anger. Bella kneels on the mattress, eyeing me carefully.

"Hey, calm down." She reaches for my elbow and turns me, so that I'm standing in front of her, before she starts speaking again. "I'm pretty sure I got this job thanks to him, actually. He must have put a good word in for me; maybe he felt bad for how things ended. I got the job less than a month after we broke up."

I don't tell her what I'm thinking, but as good as she is at her job, he probably just wanted to keep her around so he could continue to take advantage of her. The fucking douche-bag.

_God, I'm being an asshole._ She's good at her job. Period.

I'm pretty close to hyperventilating — a growl building in my chest. My hands, in fists, rest at my sides, as I try to cope with the images my masochistic brain keeps showing me. Paul's hands on Bella. Bella's on him.

"Hey…" Her voice is small, and I feel her hand on my neck, pulling me to her. "Stop..." Her touch is numbing, and I let her pull me back to bed. I lie on my back, with her by my side, as she caresses my hair and my neck, in the most hypnotizing manner.

He'll never touch her again, even if I have to chop off his hands.

God, I'm going to hate her work. I'm going to want her to quit. We're going to fight over this. I just know it.

I try to take deep breaths, in an effort to control my rage, before all the asshole-y, possessive, insecure thoughts I'm having come spilling out.

As Bella continues caressing my hair, I calm down enough to realize she's humming. When I pick up the tune, I smile.

_We've got tonight._

She's right.

I'm getting ahead of myself. I won't ruin this before it starts. I'm overthinking everything instead of enjoying my time with her. With each stroke of my hair, Bella peels a layer of anger from me, replacing it with utter calm. Before I know it, I drift away and let her take me.

_T-minus two days for the World Cup final._

**A/N:** Sleepover?

How do you like the Cullens?

You guise! Tsk, tsk, tsk… Paul even appeared on Chapter one! Courtney37 and Ladynikiw got really close, guessing Paul was the ex-boyfriend! 1000 virtual gummy bears for you two, sweets!

Also, how do you guys feel about Bella finally giving in? Too soon? Too late? Right on time? Honestly though, who could resist Edward playing with a little toddler? BTW, that scene was inspired by this gif (bit . ly/JUmTyb) Ovary-melting warning!

See you guys Thursday!

Ronnie :)


	11. Chapter 11 Splint

**Disclaimer: Stephenie Meyer owns **_**Twilight**_**. No copyright infringement is intended.**

**A/N:** Thanks to my lovely pre-readers Jaxy (Jax713) and Packy (_LittleLovely_) and my rock star beta Mel (mcc101180).

Also, special thanks to LadyNikiW in this one. ;)

**Chapter 11. Splint.**

I wake up taking a deep breath, as Bella invades all my senses. I wrap my arm tighter around her waist and bring her even closer, burying my face in her hair.

_God, she smells delicious._

I could stay here all day.

_No, wait, I can't._

I look at the clock. It's five in the morning already.

_Shit._

_Damn Seth._

Bella breathes in deeply, moving under my arms. "What time does your training start?"

"Seven," I whisper in her ear, kissing her neck. "But I promised Seth I'd go over free kicks again with him before training. The kid's persistent. What can I say?"

She turns to face me, smiling. "Okay… let's go." She runs a hand over my arm around her waist.

I secure my grip around her, refusing to let go. "Hmmmm... I really don't want to get up."

I've never really enjoyed sleeping. I mean, I sleep to recharge energy. That's it. As soon as I get my hours, I'm up. I never sleep in — I don't like to. But right now… right now, I'd stay in bed all day with her.

Bella startles as she hears the knock on my door.

Seth can bang on that door all he wants — I'm not moving.

Bella, on the other hand, is already freaking out, sitting on the bed. "Do I need to sneak out? Would you get in trouble with Coach if someone sees me?"

"Maybe…" I rub a hand down my face. "But it's early. No one would be up now. Seth won't say anything." I turn to glare at the door in annoyance as he continues to knock. "Do you mind if he knows you're here, though? We could drop you at your hotel on our way to the field."

"I don't care as long as it doesn't get you in trouble." She gets up from the bed, still in her dress, smoothing her hair with her hands. She gestures with her head at the bathroom, and I nod with a smile.

Once she's in the bathroom, I walk to the door. I open it only just to peek at Seth who is already in full training gear.

"I need five minutes." I run a hand through my hair as he eyes me, probably noticing I'm still wearing my dress shirt and suit pants. "Meet you in the lobby." He nods before I shut the door again.

When Bella comes out of the bathroom, I quickly rush in and get ready.

I find her out in the living room, resting against the counter, hugging her arms around herself, rubbing her hands over her arms.

"Are you cold?"

"A little bit. I think you overdo it with your AC."

I go back into the bedroom and open my drawer. The first thing I see is my lucky jersey. I grab it with a smile on my face and head out.

"Here," I say, handing it to her. "It might be big on you, but so would everything I own."

"Oh…" She turns it around in her hands — a confused expression on her face. Then I realize she might not want to wear my shirt, with my name on it. I mean, why would she? "This isn't the best idea if I'm trying to get out of here incognito." She runs her finger over the fabric, tracing the number seven printed on the back.

"You're right," I say, a little embarrassed, grabbing the shirt from her hands. "I'll get you something else."

"Can I still keep this?" She tugs at the shirt, without letting go.

My eyes dart from the shirt to her face, where a shy smile and a faint blush are on full display. I step closer to her, my hand reaching for her face, as I run my thumb over her cheek.

"It's yours." I bring her face closer and kiss the top of her head.

Seth is waiting in the lobby when Bella and I head down. He composes his face, as soon as he sees her, in her dress and heels, but with my gray hoodie on top.

Bella smiles shyly in his direction, as I stay behind her and glare at him to keep his mouth shut. I relax when he nods politely at her, and then the three of us walk to the car.

Bernard drives us to Bella's hotel first. I get out behind her and walk her to her door. We say goodbye awkwardly, and she thanks me for the jersey and the night. She gets on her tiptoes, and I lower myself so she can kiss my cheek.

When I settle back in the car, Seth has moved from the back to the middle row, and he's now staring at me with a smirk plastered on his face. "So… did you sleep well?"

My left fist connects with his shoulder with enough force to make him flinch, but not enough for him to stop grinning.

"Ow!" he squeals through a chuckle. "Hey, don't worry..." he says, rubbing his shoulder. "I'm like Fort Knox. These lips are sealed!"

I turn to look at him and he grins wider. "Wipe that smile off your face, kid. We're going to training, not Disneyland."

He snorts but wisely keeps quiet the rest of the way.

We practice free kicks and I am pleased to see how much better Seth has gotten at it. He is now confident and determined — always stays focused when he takes the kick, never second guessing himself. Once we're done, he approaches me, quickly dribbling the ball around me tauntingly.

My instincts kick in, and I am ready to hustle. In a blur, the ball goes between my legs, and Seth is now controlling it behind me.

"How did you do that?"

He is laughing hard as he comes around again. I try to get the ball from him, but he dribbles past me, chuckling.

"You think you're real funny, huh?" I try to bring him down with a slide-tackle, but the kid's quick on his feet and the ball is fucking glued to his cleats.

He's bent over at the waist, hands on knees, chuckling, as I get off from the turf, panting.

"All right…" I glare at him. "How the fuck do you do that?"

"I just dribble the ball, Edward," he adds, with a mocking shrug. "It's what Jesus would do."

I can't help but laugh as he throws my words back at me. Shaking my head, I wipe my hands on my shorts and decide to let it go. "I need food. Let's go."

When we walk into the cafeteria, everyone's eating already. I hadn't realized we were late.

Before I can check my watch, Waylon calls us over to his table, with a frown on his face. This can't be good. As soon as we're near, he asks, "Where were you?"

_Is he serious?_

We're here now — five minutes late, but whatever.

_Who cares?_

I was planning on ignoring him, except Seth starts spilling next to me. "We were just going over free kicks, Coach."

"You should have been resting."

I would have gladly stayed in bed with Bella, but I don't think that's what Waylon means. Of course he wants us to rest, but this is us trying to feel we've done our best, like we've done everything we could. If we don't win the final, it's not going to be because we didn't work our hardest. He knows this. I don't know why he's choosing to make a big deal out of it. It's not like we were partying…

"This is the last stage of the game," Waylon continues, looking at me. I stare back, my lips sealed. "I need you two focused and well rested. We can't afford mess-ups this late in the competition."

"Of course, Coach," Seth says next to me.

"Get ready for practice," Waylon dismisses us and we both nod and go get our breakfast.

Drills go over smoothly with Coach Clapp, even though he's pushing us hard. Over at strategy planning in the classroom, it seems like the theme of today is more about our mental preparation and less about the Brazilian game and skills. If I have to hear the words rest or relax one more time, I might just have to shoot myself in the head.

My only distraction is flicking Seth's ear every time his head bobs as he dozes off.

We go back out on the training pitch and play four on fours. At the end of the day we practice free-kicks and penalty kicks.

Once we get on the bus after practice, I fish in my bag for my cell phone. I have a message from my mom, **"Good luck, son,"** one from my sister, **"May the force be with you,"** but nothing from Bella.

I debate briefly whether I should text her or not, but before I can chicken out or ague with myself not to seem too needy, I type a quick **"Hey TT, what u up to tonight?"**

By the time we arrive at the hotel, she hasn't answered yet. It's only nine, and I know that if I go to bed, I won't be able to sleep. I'm too anxious — too edgy. I wouldn't be able to just _go_ to sleep; I'm going to have to pass out.

I need a distraction.

"FIFA13?" I ask as we walk through the hallway, everyone heading for their rooms.

"Not me…" Emmett says, scratching his neck, walking into his room.

"Pussy…" I mutter under my breath.

"You should get some sleep," Jasper says behind me.

_Of course…_

I roll my eyes at Jasper and check my phone. Bella has not replied to my text. I groan and turn to Seth who's yawning into his arm.

"I'm fried." Seth runs a hand down his face and looks at me sheepishly.

"Kid, c'mon, you're nineteen!"

"How are you not exhausted?" he asks, rubbing his eyes.

"Fine! Be an old fuck, I don't care." I march into my suite as Seth and Jasper close their doors.

_Geriatric fuckers…_

I turn in my bed for a while until my phone finally vibrates on my nightstand.

"**Working late tonight. Sorry. TT"**

I groan into the pillow which now covers my face. It doesn't take long for my brain to start assaulting me with thoughts of Bella and her cameraman alone in a room. Or Bella and Paul on a conference call, chatting all night. If she's working this late, it's probably because of the five-hour time difference between the ESPN headquarters in L.A. and here.

She's probably working with him…

I wonder what she's doing while she talks to him. He was calling her during the game — he probably saw us kissing. Has he asked her about us? What did she say if he did?

The anxiety starts eating at me, and when it becomes unbearable, I get up from my bed and head to the entertainment room.

I can play FIFA13 by myself just fine.

After several games, I'm thankful to start to feel my eyes tire out, and my shoulders slump. The thoughts of Bella with Paul have not abandoned my mind, but at least I think I'm weary enough to be able to sleep.

As I turn the system off, I can hear a noise coming from the equipment room.

I should have known better than to go investigate.

Well, well, well, if it isn't Jasper, humping a girl against the shelf. Who's the lucky gal, with her legs wrapped around him?

_Wait a minute…._

Are those... are those purple Chucks?

_It can't be._

The remote which I'm still holding in my hands falls, bouncing off the floor a couple times.

They both gasp, as Jasper turns around. The blood drains from both their faces in shock.

_You've got to be fucking kidding me._

My sister — my baby sister — is still hoisted around Jasper's hips. The purple Chucks I gave her for Christmas on her feet, locked behind Jasper's back.

Jasper puts her down and takes a step back, and I don't know if I am glad or repulsed when he arranges the obvious erection poking in his shorts.

For a second, I can't even think, and I just stand there, pulling at my hair until it hurts.

"Edward," my sister cries, drawing my attention back to her as she buttons her top. "I was going to tell you."

I can't deal with her right now, so I turn my glare back to Jasper. "Are you fucking my little sister?"

"It's not like that," he says... whispers... murmurs... like a fucking coward.

I cannot believe this. Jasper grew up with us. She's like a sister to him. She's a baby, for fuck's sake! How could he have done this?

Without realization, I'm marching to him, and he takes a couple steps to the back of the room.

"Edward, don't!" My sister holds on to my elbow as I corner Jasper against the wall, my forearm under his neck. He's surprisingly calmed — his arms hanging at his sides.

"Alice, stay out of it!" I bark at her but she doesn't even flinch.

"Stay out of it?" She yanks at my arm with some force. "I'm tired of your controlling attitude. I'm not a little girl anymore!"

Before I can answer her, Jasper speaks up. "Allie…"

_Allie? _

_ALLIE?  
_  
"Let _us _work this out. Please? Let me talk to him." Jasper's voice is smooth as he addresses my sister.

_How can he be so calm? _I am shaking with the need to punch him. He must know this. He must feel it coming.

My sister's eyes fly from his to mine before she sighs and lets go of my arm.

"Don't fight!" She points a finger at my face in warning. I want to laugh. What the hell does she think I plan to do? Talk?

As she leaves, I grab Jasper by his shirt and slam him against the wall.

"How could you do this?"

"Edward, calm down."

"I'll calm down when you stop fucking my sister." I slam him against the wall again, just aching to get some reaction out of him. My fists crave to inflict pain on his face, but I can't do it when he's numb like this, I can't.

"I'm in love with her," he says, impossibly calmer still. "You can beat me up if you want. I'll let you. But it's not going to change a thing."

_Well, fuck me sideways._

How can I beat him up now?

I clench his shirt over his chest as my right fist lifts on its own. With a growl, I punch the concrete wall next to his face.

I storm out of the room, holding my hand to my chest.

I can hear both him and Alice calling behind me, but I don't stop until I reach my room and slam the door closed.

I need to break something.

I just... I need…

My hand is throbbing and shaking, which makes it impossible for me to type the text I so desperately need to. I give up and just press the call button.

"Hey," she answers on the second ring.

"I need to see you." I breathe deeply into the phone, holding myself up on the counter for support. I wince when my fingers stretch over the surface.

"What's wrong?"

"Are… are you done working?" I try making a fist, but it seems I did a real good number on my hand this time.

_Fucking Jasper fucking my sister._

"I just got back," she says as I eye the clock on the wall. It's almost midnight.

"Can I come over?" I give up trying not to sound desperate.

"Sure."

"I'll see you in a bit," I say, resting my shaky hand over my stomach.

"Are you okay?"

"Not yet."

"What's going on?"

"I'll be there in a few." I wait for her "okay" and hang up.

Luckily, when I leave my room, Jasper and Alice are not in the hallway anymore. I don't even want to think about where they are or if, God forbid, they are together right now.

I call Bernard from the elevator, and he's ready to go as I reach the lobby.

_Thank God for Bernard._

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

I storm in through the doors of Bella's hotel like a maniac. The elevator takes forever to get to the lobby, so I just give up and hit the stairs. Nine flights of stairs later, I'm panting at her door.

My lips are on hers as soon as she opens it. She gasps, but doesn't turn away. Once her hands reach my hair, I exhale in relief.

_That's all I need…_

I have her hoisted up on me and over the counter in the next second.

"Hello," she gasps when I leave her mouth.

"Hi." I groan into her neck, trailing kisses over her collarbone.

"Are you okay?"

"Much better now, thanks."

"What happened?"

"Nothing." I groan again, trying hard not to think about what happened. My hands hover over her waist, aching to go under the fabric of her shirt.

"Edward..."

Tentatively, I reach with my hands under her shirt, over her back, looking for the clasp of her bra. When she swats at my hand — at my right hand — I whimper into her neck and pull my hand out and rest it on the counter, trying to breathe through the pain.

"What happened to your hand?" she asks, grabbing it carefully, turning it around.

"Nothing," I say through clenched teeth as I move away from her neck.

"What did you do?"

"I punched a wall," I murmur, looking down.

"Why did you punch a wall?" Her hand is under my jaw, trying to get me to look at her.

"Because Jasper is fucking my sister." I step away from her, my hand throbbing at the mention of his name. I still really want to hurt him.

"What?" Her eyes shoot up at me, her eyebrows raised in shock.

"Jasper is fucking my sister so I punched the wall instead of him." I move closer and step in between her legs again. "See? I channeled my anger. Just like you said I should. Which is exactly what I was trying to do just now, _before _you decided to smack my injured hand."

"I'm sorry. I didn't know you were hurt." She smiles and brings a hand to my cheek again. "So Jasper and Alice, huh?"

"Can we get back to me channeling my anger the old-fashioned way?" My hand mimics hers, and I rub my thumb over her cheek.

"What's the old-fashioned way?" Her smile is taunting — one I have come to learn and cherish — she's teasing me.

"You know... me... assaulting you." I can feel the corners of my lips stretching up in a devious smirk as well.

"You know there are other outlets."

"Like what?"

"Have you tried yoga?"

I laugh. "Are you serious right now?"

"Yes!"

"I run, swim, mountain bike, rock climb... I'll even play beach volleyball. I don't do yoga."

"Why not? It's fun. It's relaxing."

"It's for pussies."

"Hey!" She swats at my shoulder as I laugh. "Some positions are very challenging."

"We can try all the challenging positions you want, Tee-Tee." My hands find her waist again, as I pull her to me.

"Tell me what happened."

I groan into her neck. "Bella, please."

"It might make you feel better to talk about it." She grabs my face in her hands, pulling me from her neck.

I know I won't be winning this argument, so I decide to spill, because the sooner we get through it, the sooner we can get back to other, more important things.

"I found them kissing in the equipment room." I close my eyes and pinch my nose to try to prevent the images of my baby sister pressed up against the shelves like that.

"Has it been going on for some time?" she asks casually.

"I don't know..." I open my eyes and search hers. "Why are you not more surprised about this? Did you know something was up?"

"Of course not. But..." She trails off and bites her lips, eyeing me guiltily.

"But, what?"

"The way they were looking at each other over dinner last night... it was kinda obvious."

"It wasn't obvious to me!" I can feel the anger bubbling again.

"Don't get upset," she says sweetly. "He's your friend, right? Don't you think he's a good guy?"

"He's my age! That's five years older than her!" I really don't mean to yell at Bella, but I'm having a bit of trouble controlling myself at the moment.

"It's not that much."

I run a hand down my face, exasperated. Jasper is a good guy and my friend, but still... "She's a baby!"

"She's a freshman in college, Edward. She's definitely not a baby."

I let go of her waist and step back. I pace in front of her, running a hand through my hair. I'm so fucking tired — physically and mentally. These have been some pretty intense weeks; I don't need to add worrying about Jasper fucking my sister. I'm tired of being angry.

"They look cute together," she says, still up on the counter, and I turn to look at her.

Bella is right — Jasper _is _a good guy. He doesn't play around. He's a class act. I guess the age difference is what bugs me, but would I be happier if she was dating a frat boy her own age? No, I definitely wouldn't. My sister's always been wiser than her years…

I take a deep breath, my eyes on Bella. "He said he loves her." I walk back to her and stand between her legs.

"That's good," she says, reaching for my hair with her fingers.

"I guess…"

"Of course it is." She giggles as she starts running her fingers through my hair.

"You don't know what that does to me," I say through a sigh, closing my eyes as my forehead drops on her shoulder. Before I know it, I've relaxed so much that I'm about to doze off.

Well, we can't let that happen, now, can we?

I open my eyes and shake the sleep off of my head, breathing in deeply, as I smirk at her. I grab her hand from behind my ear, kiss her wrist, and move her arms around my neck, wrapping mine around her right afterward.

I attack her mouth then, and she moans when my tongue slips in her mouth. I bring my arms over to her ass and lift her up from the counter, just as she circles her legs around my waist.

"Bedroom?" I pant into her neck.

"Yes…" She gasps, throwing her head back.

We fall clumsily on the bed, and as I use my hands to keep my weight off of her, my right hand gives out, and I fall on my elbow, groaning into my arm.

"Are you okay?" Bella asks worriedly from under me.

I kiss her mouth impatiently, trying to get the buttons of her shirt unhooked with my left hand only. It proves to be very frustrating.

"Edward?"

I hold myself up on my left hand and try again with my right, but it is painful and I can't help but wince.

"You're in pain."

"I'm all right."

"Let me look at your hand again."

"Bella…"

"Edward, stop." Her hand is on my chest, pushing me off of her. I roll over next to her and lay my hand on my stomach.

She sits up beside me and grabs it. Even though she's being careful, my hand is aching and just her handling it makes me shut my eyes in pain.

"It's starting to swell," she says softly. "Can you move your fingers or make a fist?"

I try but it hurts too much.

"Okay, that's it."

When I open my eyes, she's already off the bed. "Where are you going?"

"You're getting that checked."

"What? Right now? Are you serious?"

"Does it look like I'm joking?" Her stance is grave — hands on hips, scowl on her face.

"I sure as hell hope you are." I sit up on the bed, holding my hand to my chest. "It doesn't hurt that much," I press. "I'm really good with my left hand too." I try smiling at her through my tight jaw. Her posture melts as her face softens, and she walks closer to me.

"Your hand could be broken." She puts a hand on my cheek, trying to reason with me.

"It's not, c'mon! I'll have it checked tomorrow morning."

"I don't want you to be in pain," she explains, letting go of my face.

"Funny you should say that… you do know my hand is not the only thing on me that's throbbing right now."

Even though I'm not joking, my statement makes her laugh, but then the scowl is back and so is my Tiny Terror.

"Are you calling Bernie or do I have to?"

_Shit…_

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

A couple hours later, we are back at my hotel. The on-call medics have determined my hand is broken and have put it in a splint. That is only mildly annoying compared to the fact that Bella is trying to convince me it's better for me if she goes back to her hotel.

"You need your rest. Please. Last training tomorrow, remember? Keep your head in the game."

"My priorities have changed," I say, wrapping my good arm around her waist.

"How could they? No…" She grabs my arm, releasing it from her waist. "I don't want that. You've worked so hard for this, to jeopardize it for... for whatever this is." She waves a hand between us. "I won't let you."

"Bella..."

"I'm serious. I'll still be here after you win this thing. Until then, your head needs to be in that game."

"Can other parts of me be in you while my head is in the game?"

"No." She smiles. "Now, go rest. Bernie will drive me back to my hotel. Right, Bernie?"

"Of course, Miss Swan."

I glare at Bernard. Last time I checked, I'm the one signing his paychecks.

_Fucking traitor._

I look down at Bella in defeat. She gives me a small grin, stretching up on her tiptoes to give me a peck on the lips, before she turns around and leaves with Bernard.

Once I go up to my floor, I find my sister at my door, her arms around herself.

"Alice, what are you—"

"Edward! I'm so sorry!" she interrupts me. "I promise I was going to tell you. I just didn't want to do it over the phone. I swear he didn't start it. It just kinda happened, and well, I'm really happy it did, E. He makes me happy." Her words come out in a rush as her eyes fill with tears.

"Hey," I say, bringing her closer. "It's all right, Munchkin." I hug her head to my chest as she sniffles on my shirt.

"Wait, what?" Her eyes shoot up at me in surprise.

"It's okay."

"You're _okay_ with it?"

"Yeah… I mean, I was caught off guard. I'm sorry if I over reacted."

"You… um… wha…" She exhales in relief and slumps against the wall. "Man, I thought you were going to lose your shit and be extremely difficult about this."

"Well, I'm not." I ruffle her hair as I yawn.

"Your hand."

"Fifth metacarpal fracture." I shrug. It's actually not that bad, after the anti-inflammatory drugs and pain killers. Plus the splint only immobilizes my pinky and ring finger, so my hand is at least not completely useless.

"I'm sorry."

"Not your fault. I wish I would have come to my senses before I punched the wall."

"What made you come to your senses?"

I shake my head with a smile.

"Where were you 'til now?" A smile starts creeping on her face. "Where's Bella?"

I search for my key in my pocket, turning away from her.

"Oh my God! This is so awesome! We can do stuff together, all four of us! Jasper and me... you and Bella. 'Cause you and Bella are together, right?"

"I don't know what we are at this point."

"Well, she has to be something, right? You've never introduced a girl to Mom before."

"I know…"

"Do you need relationship advice, big brother?"

"No. I need sleep. Now go."

"Okay… okay." My sister pulls me down for a hug and then leaves.

I drag my feet to bed, completely spent. It doesn't take long before I pass out.

_T-minus one day to the World Cup final._

**A/N:** So, Edward didn't take it _that_ bad, right? ;)

See you guys Saturday!

Ronnie.


	12. Chapter 12 Last Training

**Disclaimer: Stephenie Meyer owns **_**Twilight**_**. No copyright infringement is intended.**

**A/N:** Thanks to my lovely pre-readers Jaxy (Jax713) and Packy (_LittleLovely_) and my rock star beta Mel (mcc101180).

**Chapter 12. Last Training.**

Last training.

_This is it. _

One last training and then the final game tomorrow.

_Holy shit, this month just flew by!_

Seth, Jasper and Emmett are already sitting at our table. I'm not technically late, but I did have a bit of trouble getting up, having gotten back so late last night.

I grab my breakfast and walk to the table, ready to put Jasper and my sister behind me. I don't want to think about it. I don't want to worry about it. None of us should really.

I can see Jasper tense up as I approach the table. I sit and start eating in spite of the three pairs of eyes on me. We sit in silence for a couple seconds, until Emmett drops his spoon in his empty bowl.

"So..." he starts, stretching his arms over his head. "Jasper is boinking Alice."

My eyes fly to his and the unapologetic smile on his face.

Seth is the first one to start laughing, through his nose, choking on his cereal. When I turn to look at him, I can't help but start laughing too... and I mean hand-over-chest, belly laughing. Jasper looks at me like he's about to have an aneurysm, and it just makes me laugh harder.

"Now that that's all settled..." Emmett continues. "We ready for tomorrow?"

Before I can answer, Waylon calls me over from behind.

_Great..._

I roll my eyes at Emmett and Jasper and get up with a groan.

"Care to explain why you were punching a wall instead of sleeping last night?" Waylon asks, as soon as I am in front of him.

"The wall asked for it," I try jokingly with a shrug. Waylon's fingers rub his forehead in concern, either not getting or not caring for my joke.

"Jesus Christ, Edward. Is this a joke to you? Do you know what's at stake here?"

I eye Waylon carefully, realizing what a mess he is. He looks tired — stressed out. My stomach sinks and I take a deep breath.

"Hey, Coach, I'm sorry. I'm okay. I do know what's at stake. I can guarantee you I'm a hundred percent in that game tomorrow — broken hand and all." I wave my splinted hand at him for emphasis.

Waylon gets his hands on his hips and takes a deep breath himself. I can see the nervousness in his eyes — this is the biggest deal of his career as well.

I stand uncomfortably in front of him, not knowing really what to say. I've never seen Waylon this jittery or insecure before. With a deep breath, he shakes his head, and when he looks back at me, he has composed himself.

"Just head to training," he says with a scowl.

"Yes, sir," I say, happy to have the roles back to normal.

After drills and lunch, we head over to the classroom for strategy planning. Everyone is tense but focused. It's not every day you face the five-time champions in a World Cup final. Once Waylon is finished, instead of sending us back on the field for four on fours, he dismisses us to the hotel.

I am the first, and only one, to object. "What do you mean no training in the afternoon?"

"I need all of you well rested tomorrow morning." Waylon's tone is dismissive as he gathers his things.

"So what are we supposed to do, wait around?" I'll go mad.

"We'll go back to the hotel. We'll have the masseurs around. I just want you to rest and relax and think about the game tomorrow."

As my team heads out to the bus, I stay behind, anxiously pacing in front of Waylon's desk. My injured hand scratches the back of my neck as I wait for him to say something — anything.

_He can't possibly be serious._

"Remember the meditation exercises we pract—"

"Coach, please..." I interrupt him because nothing that starts with meditation exercises is going to make me feel better. "I mean no disrespect, but get the fuck out with that shit. None of it works on me. You need to give me something to do or I'll go insane in the hotel all afternoon and night."

"Edward..." Waylon breathes out roughly in exasperation. "Just... find something that relaxes you, and then go do that."

As the words leave his mouth, I can feel the corners of my mouth stretch up in a grin, because I know exactly what can and will help me relax.

On the way to the hotel, I text her.

**"Hey, TT, I need to find something to do to relax, and since you won't put out, care to join me for some pile-of-shit castle making?"**

"**Nice try, Cullen."** The fact that she answers right away is very promising.

"**I'm serious. You busy? Let's go to piranha beach."**

"**Prainha..."**

"**Is that a yes?" **I press.

"**Would Coach be okay with this?"**

"**He suggested it." **_Kinda, sorta, indirectly._

"**Well, I'm done with work for the day." **I'm not even done reading her text when my lips stretch out in a smirk.

"**Pick you up in 30. Wear the green bikini."**

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

I wait in the car in front of Bella's hotel, anxious to see her. I crave her touch and the calm it brings me. I just need to get my mind off the game for a bit — clear my head, so I can relax.

When she finally comes out, in white denim shorts and a yellow t-shirt, I have to physically restrain myself in the car, so I don't jump out of it.

"I think you should let Bernie wear something other than a suit," she says as she gets in and

Bernard closes the door behind her. "I mean, it's eighty-eight outside... you'd be whining if you had to be wearing a suit."

I don't know if I should laugh or snap back. I don't tell Bernard what to wear — if he's wearing a suit, that's his problem. I decide I don't care. She's been in this car for longer than five seconds, and my lips are not on hers yet. I must fix this at once.

I cup her face with both hands, splint and all, and bring her mouth close to mine, breathing in deeply as our lips touch. "I like you like this," I say between kisses. "In shorts and a t-shirt..."

The three fingers that are not immobilized on my splinted hand, brush some of her hair behind her ear as I smirk at her. "You look... I don't know... free."

"How's your hand?" Her eyes are on me as her hand circles around the splint.

"Itchy."

She sneaks a finger under the splint and starts trying to scratch my palm. Her eyes never leave mine. "How did training go?"

"It went well until Waylon felt he needed to cut it short." I still can't believe he expects us to just wait around until the game.

"Are you guys ready for tomorrow?"

"I am." My eyes follow my fingers as I brush them down her arm.

"What about the rest of the team?" she questions sternly.

"Hey, when is this interview over?" I touch a finger under her chin and smirk at her and her terror-inducing tendencies.

"Sorry..."

"S'okay..." I wrap my arm around her waist and pull her closer to me. "I just want to clear my head for a while. Do you think we can not talk about the game?"

"Sure..." she says, adjusting herself next to me, pulling my arm over her shoulder. "I ate raw oysters today..." she blurts out, changing the topic abruptly, making me laugh just like I need to. I chuckle into her hair and kiss the top of her head. We talk seafood the rest of the way.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

We arrive to the little paradise that is this beach with the unfortunate name. Just like the other day, there's virtually no one here, except for some surfers. We stand at the cliff for a bit. I breathe in deeply, letting the salty smell invade my lungs.

When I turn around, Bella's already pulling her shirt off, revealing a red bikini top. There are little red strings sticking out of the waist of her white shorts. I think my jaw has come unhinged, and I might have had to blink a couple times.

"That's not a green bikini."

"Sorry to disappoint you, Mr. Cullen."

I step closer to her, sliding my fingers into the belt loops of her shorts and pulling her to me, leaning down to her. "Who says I'm disappointed? That looks coronary-inducing, ridiculously good on you."

She stretches up on her tip-toes and smiles at me before giving me a soft kiss. My hands move to palm her ass and bring her even closer.

When she releases my mouth, her eyes are closed. She looks flustered, as if she wants this, maybe even as much as I do. She clears her throat, shaking her head, as she opens her eyes and glances up at me. "Sand castles?"

I shrug with a grin as she pulls my hands off of her.

When the sun starts to set, the sand castles we made have been mostly washed off by the waves. We sit on the sand, staring out into the ocean, Bella resting on her hands and I on my elbows.

"Do you feel better now?" She turns to look at me.

"I don't know..." I sit up, wiping the sand from my arms. "Maybe you lost your touch." I shrug at her teasingly.

"Oh, did I now?" She raises one eyebrow at me.

"Try getting your hands in my hair… that has seemed to work before."

"You're right," she says, smiling deviously as she stands up. My eyes trail the contour of her legs splattered with sand.

She crouches behind me. "Let me know if this works," she whispers in my ear.

Instead of her fingers in my hair, she dumps a glob of wet sand on my head.

She's laughing as she moves away from me and I gape at her.

"You did not just do that." I stare at her in mocked shock.

"I'm sorry. Did I mess up that perfectly disarranged hair of yours?"

"Oh, Tee-Tee... you're in real trouble now." I shake the sand off my head, and she starts running before I get up.

I laugh hard.

_As if she could outrun me._

It doesn't take me long to catch her. One arm around her waist, I drag her into the water while she squeals. Once the water is around my waist, I lift her up and throw her in as she screams.

I duck in and swim closer to her, worried that I might have thrown her too far or too hard. But when I come up for air, she's laughing, so I think she's all right. I pull her to me and swim back, until I can reach the sand with my feet again, but the water is still up to just below my shoulders. We are past where the waves break, so despite the current being a bit strong, it's quite calm.

She is still giggling as she wraps her legs around my torso.

"What's so funny?"

"You still got sand in your hair."

"You're a real prankster, Tee-Tee." My hands trail her sides until they reach her bikini bottom, and I wrap my fingers over the strings. "If I just pull on these, will it come off?"

"Don't you dare!" She laughs, her hands over mine in an instant, but when she touches the splint on my hand, she frowns in concern. "Oh no, you got it wet."

"It's okay. It's plastic." I shrug, my fingers still twirling the little strings, pulling slightly.

"Edward, let go of my suit," she warns ineffectively, with a smile still plastered on her face.

"No!" I chuckle into her neck.

"I'm serious."

"So am I."

Her hand runs over my stomach, and as her fingers catch the laces on the front of my swim trunks, she raises one eyebrow at me.

My lips stretch in a grin. "Really? That's how you're planning to win this argument? Please be my guest."

"You are impossible!" She swats a hand at my shoulder, laughing.

"How can you expect me to behave when you're wearing this?" My fingers clench, pulling the fabric of her suit. "You know how little it would take to have you naked right now?"

"You think you don't look good in your trunks? But you don't see me trying to pull them off of you!"

"Actually, your hands were just—"

"Shut up..." She interrupts me, her lips colliding with mine and her hands flying to my neck. She pushes herself up on my shoulders as her tongue slips in my mouth. My hands run over her back, desperate to feel more of her.

When she slides slowly down my torso, her legs still wrapped around me, I groan into her lips as she presses herself against my hardness.

"Jesus, Bella..." I trail kisses over her collarbone as my hand runs over her ribcage to her breast.

I search her eyes, for any sign that she's going to stop me, but when I find none, my hand pushes away the fabric of her bikini top, releasing her breast into my hand. My splinted hand stays useless on her back, holding her to me, as I wish I could do more with it.

My good hand palms her breast, and I circle Bella's already hardened nipple with my fingers. The little moan that escapes her lips stirs everything inside of me, and I grind against her again.

The waves sway us back and forth as my hands roam Bella's body, impatient to get more of her than I ever dreamed of. I even get the best out of the three fingers that are not immobilized on my right hand. I wish I could get rid of the stupid splint already.

When my hand reaches between her legs, she clenches her thighs together and whimpers.

"Edward..."

My hand freezes over the fabric of her suit. "Please, don't ask me to stop." I moan into her neck.

"I won't... I... I want to touch you too."

"Fuck... Bella..."

My hand dips into her bikini bottom as her hand runs down my torso. I let my fingers explore the warmth of her entrance, rejoicing in silk, as I move them up and down.

Bella writhes under my touch as her own hands release me from my shorts. When her fingers circle around me, I suck in a deep breath. We move in unison, my fingers curling and circling and flicking as her hands stroke me. I gradually increase my pace, trying to bring her to release, but when she speeds up as well, it becomes obvious to me that if we both keep the same pace, I'll be gone way before her.

"Slow down, baby, please," I plead, my teeth grazing her earlobe.

"I can't... I can't focus." She drops her head on my shoulder, breathing hard, and continues to stroke me.

I sink one finger inside of her, trying to focus on that instead of on what she's doing to me. She stifles her moans in my neck, nibbling on my skin, almost making me completely lose it.

With two fingers inside of her, I can finally feel her coming undone.

"Oh God… Edward."

There's no turning back for me. "Bella… please…" I beg into her neck.

When I feel her walls clenching on my fingers, I finally let myself go, spilling into the water. Bella cries my name into my shoulder, making me shudder in pleasure.

I breathe hard into her neck for a while, before I duck and drop my head back, breathing out into the water.

Her fingers pull at my neck as I surface.

"Holy shit! That was—" I can't finish because her lips are over mine. "Yeah…" I breathe out in relief when she releases my mouth. I hold her close to me again, and she smiles in bliss, pushing my hair off of my forehead.

"Stay with me tonight," I blurt out.

"Edward..." She looks far into my eyes, her hands still brushing my hair.

"Please?"

"I don't know." Her hands stay at my neck but she looks down.

"I promise I'll behave. I didn't get much sleep last night, and I'm in need of some good rest for tomorrow. I'm already much calmer, thanks to you, but if you stay with me, I'll sleep so much better. Just sleep, I promise."

"Just sleep?" She peeks up at me, one eyebrow raised in disbelief.

"Yes, for now… but when this is over, Bella, I plan to possess every inch of you. I will make you mine, completely mine."

She blushes, smiles, and kisses me one more time. I look around and notice it has gotten considerably darker and we should get going. We both arrange ourselves back into our suits before we come out of the water and, hand in hand, make our way back to the car.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

After picking up some stuff at Bella's hotel, we end up in my suite. I have showered and changed into shorts and a white tee, and sit on the bed, rubbing my neck as I wait for her. When she comes in the room, she's wearing tiny cotton shorts and a tank top. And she's very obviously not wearing a bra.

"Is that… are you planning to sleep in those?"

I close my eyes briefly, pinching my nose, trying to collect myself enough not to assault her. When I look up, she's looking down at herself and then covers her chest with her arms.

"It's not my fault you keep this room at fifty-five!"

I laugh hard — I keep the room at sixty-three. My chuckles die down as I ogle her. My mind assaults me with all the ways I could be having her right now.

I look down again, running a hand through my damp hair. This might be harder than I thought.

She steps closer tentatively, and I groan as my hand reaches for her hip.

"I told you this was a bad idea." With concern in her tone, she reaches for my face.

I take a couple deep breaths, still not looking at her, my fingers tracing the soft fabric of her shorts.

"Would it help if I throw something on top?"

_Maybe…_

I get up from the bed and head for the dresser, getting out the first shirt I can find. She puts it on quickly, but it doesn't help. Being too big for her, the shirt completely covers what she was wearing before, and now it looks like she could be naked underneath.

"Shit…" I exhale through a groan. "That's hot too."

She laughs at me, with her hands on her hips.

"Just get in the bed," I order in irritation.

As soon as she's in, I cover her with as much fabric as I can manage, before I lie flat on top of the covers next to her with a huff.

"If I'm not helping, maybe I should just—"

"I'm okay." I sigh before turning to look at her. She's covered up to her neck in the thick duvet which makes me smile. "I'm not a teenager, you know? I can control my urges."

"It looked like you were struggling there for a second."

"I'm all right now." I reach for her face with my hand and push some of her hair behind her ear.

She mimics my position, and her arm rests over mine, with her hand over my ear. "Are you nervous about tomorrow?"

I close my eyes as she starts running her fingers in my hair. "A little bit."

In all honesty, I am scared shitless about tomorrow, but there's nothing else I can do at this point but relax. I let out a sigh of relief and focus on Bella's patterns on my hair, slowly drifting off.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

I open my eyes and look at the clock — five in the morning. The alarm won't go off for another hour. I pull Bella close to me and bury my face in her hair, kissing her neck before I get up.

My body is already buzzing with energy, and I feel like I could run a marathon. Which is why, when Bella wakes up, I'm doing crunches in the living room.

"Morning," she says from the bedroom door, still wearing my t-shirt.

"Hey…" I sit up on the floor, panting, and smile at her.

I run a towel down my face and bare chest as I get up and walk closer to her.

"Sorry, I'm all sweaty," I say, giving her a soft kiss on the top of her head.

"It's okay," she says, reaching on her tip toes, grabbing my neck, and kissing my lips. "Your alarm went off. You need to get ready."

"Yes, ma'am."

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

I still have a couple of minutes before I need to head downstairs to meet the team. Bella will be heading to the stadium afterward, with Bernard. I sit on the couch in the living room of my suite, waiting to say good bye to her.

My cell phone buzzes in my pocket with a text from my sister. **"Good luck. You're gonna need it."** Quoting Hans Solo, nonetheless.

I'm chuckling at the screen when Bella comes out of the bathroom. She's wearing a denim skirt, and my jersey, with a knot on the back that makes it tight right under her waist.

"That's a skirt," I say, swallowing hard.

She walks closer to me and steps in between my legs. "You state the obvious a lot."

"Are you trying to kill me, woman?" My fingers slip in the belt hoops of her skirt as I pull her to me, my thumbs tracing the line of skin exposed around her midsection. I wet my lips in anticipation, dreaming of what it would be like to kiss the skin over her hipbone.

"Where's your mind?" Bella brings me back to reality.

I close my eyes and exhale harshly in aggravation.

"On the game," I answer reluctantly.

"And your eyes?"

"On the prize." I open my eyes and look up at her, a smirk on my face. "But my hands…" My left hand reaches for her ass, but it doesn't get far before she swats it away.

"Are you ready?" She pulls at my hands and I comply, getting up from the couch.

"I am." I wrap a hand around her neck and bring her mouth to mine, kissing her softly before letting her go. I step away from her unwillingly, taking a deep breath.

_I am so ready. I'm ready for everything._

"Go do what you do best."

"I'm good at lots of things, Bella." I touch a finger under her chin. "I'll prove that to you after the game."

She blushes and shakes her head at me. I walk to the door, smirking at her, flipping my hat backwards.

"I'll see you after the game," I say with my hand on the knob, before I step out into the hallway.

_T-minus five hours for the final game against Brazil._

**A/N:** Remember when I said this story was originally a one shot that completely got out of control and got turned into a 13 chapter mini fic? Well, that means next chapter is the last chapter. But it kind of grew out of proportion too, so I have split it into two which I will post Tuesday and Thursday next week.

Thanks for sticking out with the story so far!

Ronnie :)


	13. Chapter 13 Part 1 The Final Game

**Disclaimer: Stephenie Meyer owns **_**Twilight**_**. No copyright infringement is intended.**

**A/N:** All right, this is it!

Thanks to my lovely pre-readers Jaxy (Jax713) and Packy (_LittleLovely_) and my rock star beta Mel (mcc101180).

Quick reminder for non-soccer fans: A match consists of two 45 minutes halves plus a 15 minute break in the middle. If the score is tied after the first 90 minutes, then they play two more 15 minutes halves for a total 120 minutes. If they are tied still, then they go for a round of penalty kicks.

Throughout the game the coach can only make three substitutions. Once all subs have been used, there are no more changes. Even if a player gets hurt, he either has to play hurt or step out and leave his team with ten men. At the 1970 World Cup in Mexico, Franz Beckenbauer (a German defender) played for the last 30 minutes of the final game with a heavily strapped, dislocated shoulder. :s

Anyway, enough about history… let's get onto the good stuff.

**Chapter 13. Part 1. The Final Game.**

My muscles are warmed up. My body is ready. My mind is set. I'm in this one-hundred percent — mind, body, and soul. As we line up in the tunnel, I'm second behind Emmett who rolls his shoulders and cracks his neck in preparation.

I don't know exactly when the tradition started, but eleven kids per team will walk hand in hand with each player to emphasize sportsmanship. We are role models for these young kids, and they're here to remind us to behave as such.

The little one whose hand I'm holding seems to be doing a better job than me dealing with his nerves. While he stands still, with an excited smile on his face, looking eagerly up at me, I'm fidgety, my lips being attacked by my teeth, my left hand hanging at my side opening and closing a fist as I shift my weight from one foot to the other.

He'll never forget this day, and neither will I.

The end of the tunnel is almost too bright. I squint my eyes to see the reason I am here. Why we are all here. There, in the middle of the exit, where we'll walk right by on our way out to the field, is the trophy, the prize, the most coveted award for a footballer. The World Cup.

I can see it shining under the Brazilian sun, sitting there, on top of the stand. The round base holds two athletes stretching up, the world held up in their hands, in their moment of victory. I've dreamed of holding that cup between my fingers since I was a little boy, like the one holding my splinted hand right now. Only the greatest have held that golden statue in their hands. And today, the US finally has a chance.

I don't look at my rivals, lining up next to me, doing their own little rituals. Not even at Gustavo, who stands a couple guys behind me. I push aside all thoughts of how disrespectful he was to Bella that night at Lapa . I will not let him get to me today.

These few minutes while we wait in the tunnel are filled with complete focus on the task ahead. Nothing could break my concentration at this point. Not even Bella walking naked in this hallway. Well, maybe I wouldn't go so far as to say that...

I look down and take a deep breath, exhaling harshly through my mouth, while I arrange the captain arm band meticulously. It's an honor and a huge responsibility to lead my team today, but I am ready, and I won't disappoint.

The loud drumming outside combines with my beating heart as we slowly make our way onto the Maracanã stadium field. Completely sold out, there are over eighty-five thousand souls in this place. The little kid next to me squeezes my hand and I squeeze it back, not really knowing how to offer him any support. The vibe in the stadium is quite frankly overwhelming.

My eyes scan the crowds, unable to make out faces, only colors. Over half of the stadium is wearing yellow — Brazil supporters. The right half, on the other hand, holds the biggest supporter crowd we've had yet, dressed in red, white, and blue. Huge American flags dance in the air. These people are here for us, and we're going to make them proud.

We line up in front of the cameras as they announce the national anthems, and the kids line up in front of us. The Brazilian crowd is loud, singing and chanting. My arms stretch for the little fella in front of me, my fingers barely reaching his shoulders, trying to keep a connection with him. My gaze remains fixed in front of me, at nothing in particular, trying hard to stand still. I'm ready to get this game started.

When the US anthem starts, my teammates and I link our arms together over our shoulders. I mouth the words of my country's most precious lyrics with my eyes closed. Hearing the roar of the crowd over the last line works like a boost of adrenaline through my body, and I am unable to stay motionless anymore. I think I'm jumping, clapping, and egging my team on as we take our positions.

We are in for a rude awakening as soon as the game starts. It feels like we just stepped on this field, and the Brazilians are already dominating ball possession in its entirety. Their striker goes through our defense like a walk in the park, dribbles past Emmett, and puts it in the right corner.

The cheering of the crowd is deafening — like nothing I've ever experienced before. The host team is now winning 1-0 after only six minutes of play. Our defense is completely overwhelmed by the speed of the Brazilians and the ease with which they touch the ball. Fifteen minutes into the game, they score again.

We've all been caught off guard. The lost expression on my teammates' faces is not something I'm willing to tolerate. I'm yelling at them, signaling with my arms, trying to get everyone out of the shock of being down 2-0 in such a short period of time.

The Brazilians feel way superior — they play at ease while we struggle to keep up. Both Seth and I drop back to help with the defense and try to somehow keep control of the game. We start winning some balls and increase our possession a bit. But with our lines so far back, we barely have any chance to score.

As the minutes progress, I try to get Seth to move up, so we can at least try to attack. Toward the end of the first half, I cross the ball from the midfield and he starts his run. Gustavo gets to it first though, but with a blatantly obvious hand ball. I scream at the ref who refuses to call the foul, but signals to continue playing instead.

I turn to the assistant ref on the sideline of the field. He's not raising his flag either. I run to him, colorfully complaining about his poor visual skills, when I hear Seth calling me from behind. When I turn around, I notice the play has continued, Brazil is counterattacking, and when they score easily again, my hands pull at the hair on the top of my head.

Caught up in the injustice of it all, I have trouble finding my voice, my mind. The first half ends and we're losing 3-0. We head back into the locker rooms in a mix of disgust and incredulity. I walk past the World Cup trophy still on its stand, and I can't help but think how the Brazilians already have one hand around it. An achievement that seemed so tangible forty-five minutes ago, now feels so far away. Our dreams of a first World Cup title are basically over.

My mind tortures me, going over the most embarrassing defeats in the history of World Cups. Are we going to lose 3-0, or is it going to get even worse? Will we break the record of most goals allowed in a World Cup final? Are we going to be humiliated in front of the whole world? Are we going to prove the world right that Americans are just not good at soccer, and that we got this far on good luck?

I'm frankly too shocked to even be angry.

I walk in the dressing room, head down, dragging my feet — completely defeated. I sink on the bench, next to my teammates as Waylon walks in. He stands in front of us, hands on his hips, a serious expression on his face.

"We knew this wasn't going to be easy," is the first thing he says. "They are fast and in top physical form."

I look around the room. Everyone seems deflated, just sitting there, heads down, tired.

"We're not going to allow any more goals," Waylon continues. "Emmett, keep your head up. You've done what you could."

"How can I keep my head up? We're fucking losing 3-0!" I've never seen Emmett so visibly affected at a game. He's taking the blame. That's just not fair.

"Em, it's not your fault. If they get that close to begin with it's because we've already messed up." I put a hand on his back, but he still looks down.

"There are thousands of Americans out there who have come all this way to see you play. Our mission for the next forty-five minutes will be to give them at least one goal." As Waylon continues his speech, the tone of the chants and cheers outside suddenly changes, and the singing is now in English. I can't pick up all of the words — they melt together with cheers — but they're filled with emotion that carries all the way into the locker room. I look at Waylon first, then at my teammates.

We're losing 3-0 but our country is still cheering for us. That's our people out there. Our families. Our friends. They haven't given up on us. Why have we?

_Why have I?_

"We've gotta do it for them. They're still here. They're still cheering. That's your country supporting you! We're not going to throw in the towel." Waylon raises his voice, the energy from the cheers coming from outside obviously affecting him too.

I get up from the bench and shake Emmett's shoulder trying to cheer him up. The game is not finished — there are still a lot of minutes to play. Waylon starts discussing strategies and the two substitutions he's making in the midfield and back. He wants Seth and me to move forward and try to score.

We get to it as soon as we go out, trying to take the Brazilians by surprise with our crowd cheering behind us. Only five minutes into the second half, Seth gets a corner kick. He crosses it beautifully into the goal area as I jump over the defenders. My head connects with the ball, shifting its direction, right into the net.

3-1.

We don't waste any time celebrating. I grab the ball from the back of the net and head back. My hand smacks Seth's shoulder, thanking him for his cross. We get right back at it, and a couple minutes later, Seth opens his way through the defense, showing off his dribbling technique and working some magic, putting us back in the game.

3-2.

The Brazilians look no way near defeated though. They close the lines in the defense and start attacking again, wanting to finish this game. After a couple of chances that make our defense seem overwhelmed again, I decide to drop back to help out but without neglecting the attack, trying to still cross the ball to Seth so he could be in position to score. It's not an easy task — covering that much ground of the field — especially having Gustavo on my back the whole time.

I am determined — I won't let him get to me. There's still time on that clock and we need to score. I ignore him the best I can, as I try to focus on the game, but when he brings me down with a malicious slide-tackle from behind, I react.

"Hey!" I walk up to him, pointing, and with a hand on his chest, push him back. "Watch it, asshole."

The ref approaches us, whistling. Gustavo and I get a warning from him and then he walks back.

"Edward, calm down." Jasper holds me back, one hand on my chest, one on my back.

"He was… I just…" I can't get a sentence out. I'm panting profusely, completely out of breath.

"You're trying to do too much. You need to pace yourself."

I try catching my breath as I return to my position, and the game continues just as before. The Brazilians keep possession of the ball, and thus control of the game. The minutes tick as we try our hardest to score without neglecting our defense.

Fifteen minutes before the end, I get my chance. I'm outside of the area, about forty yards from the goal, too far out, maybe, but I feel confident. I look up at Seth, who's being marked by two defenders; no way I'll make it across to him. I dribble past Gustavo and take my shot, giving it all I have left. The ball flies over the field with force, coming down for the goal, taking the keeper by surprise and going into the net on the left corner.

3-3.

I am euphoric. I keep running past the goal — my teammates behind me. I jump over the advertisement barrier toward the bleachers, where the US crowd is roaring. I fist the emblem of my shirt and bring it to my lips, pointing at them, as my teammates catch up with me in a huddle.

We are now tied, and there's ten minutes on the clock. I try to catch my breath as we head back. We've made a tremendous comeback, but it has come with a price. We have exerted ourselves, and I can see we are all exhausted. We either try to finish this game now — score again — or we'll have to play thirty more minutes against a squad of Brazilians who a) have made no substitutions yet and b) look considerably fresher than us.

I look over at Waylon, for guidance. He signals to move forward. We try, we do, really. But the Brazilians are trying to finish the game as well, and we can't afford to leave them any space, so we are forced to keep our lines back. I go into overdrive, trying to open some plays from behind. Seth is giving it his all too, trying to receive my crosses.

Unfortunately, my right leg does not seem to be up to the task, and when I jump over Gustavo, to avoid being tackled again, the back of my leg stiffens and contracts painfully, making me fall to the ground.

I sit up grabbing my leg, resting my forehead on top of my knee, trying to breathe.

"You okay?" Seth is next to me, a hand on my shoulder.

"Cramp…" I barely get out through a tight jaw.

The Brazilians start complaining to the ref, saying I am faking it to waste time.

_To waste time? _

I want this game over; we definitely do not want to go to extra time. Not like this.

I breathe a couple times before I try to get up. When I do, the crowd cheers, and even though my leg is stiff and not cooperating, I limp the quickest I can manage off the field so that the medic staff can help me and the game can continue.

Once off the field, I drop on the ground again. The medic is trying to help me stretch, but I keep swatting his hand away, in too much pain.

"Edward, stop! Lie back."

"Just give me a second," I plead, holding on to my leg, trying to breathe.

"Is it a cramp?"

As if to answer his question, my hamstring spasms painfully again, tensing up from the back of my knee to my ass cheek. I clamp my teeth together to try to suppress a cry as I slump on the turf. I cover my eyes with my arm and focus on my breathing while he grabs my foot and stretches my leg.

"Maybe you should sit the rest of the game out," the other one says, as he sprays the back of my leg.

"No," I say through my teeth, trying hard not to scream.

"It's not loosening up."

_Like I need to hear that._

I can feel how tense it is. If I wasn't in so much pain, I would have sarcastically thanked him for his insightful observation, but every rub of his finger on the back of my leg feels like a thousand knives stabbing me while, simultaneously, my hamstring is trying to peel itself from the bone.

"Just give it a sec." I groan my words, trying to breathe through the pain and relax my leg. When he finally lets go of me, I try to get up, seeing that Waylon's already on his way to us. "I'm not sitting this out unless you have to stretcher me off this field," I hiss at the medic, pointing at his face.

I rub the back of my leg, trying to will it to relax the fuck down. "Just give me a minute," I say to Waylon. "Then put me back in."

"Edward..."

"It's just a cramp. It will pass. It's passing." I try my best to keep my voice even, but Waylon still eyes me suspiciously. I see behind his back — he has Tyler warming up already, to substitute me. Our last substitution is _not _going to be wasted on me. I look at him in the eyes, composing my face. "I'm fine."

Waylon goes back to the bench, but doesn't ask Crowley to stop warming up. I rest my hands on my knees, my leg stiff, my muscle contracted, and I can't fucking move.

_I can't believe this is happening!_

I try to breathe the pain off, rubbing my fingers behind my knee. "Please, please, please."

I thought I could do this, but maybe I can't. It just hurts too much.

The back of my thigh is still tense, but at least it's not contracting anymore. I eye the bench from my crouched position, sweat dripping from my face, and find Waylon looking at me.

The game is still going on, and I'm wasting valuable seconds. We're still tied 3-3 and there are only ten minutes on the clock. If the Brazilians score now, it will all be over. Every hour of hard work, of rigorous preparation, to be wasted because of a cramp? Not in this lifetime.

I straighten my back and get up in determination, taking a couple steps and forcing my leg to behave. I try to compose my face enough to stare back at Waylon and let him know I am all right. I'm not sure if I succeed or not, but I still nod at him and give him the universal OK sign with my thumb up. The medics spray some more shit on my leg as I try to push the pain to the back of my mind.

I allow myself a second to gaze over to the VIP area, above the bench. Generally, I never look at my family during a game, to avoid getting distracted, but right now I need them — I need to see them, and I need to see her.

I find them immediately. My mom's off her seat, one hand clamped over her mouth, looking at me with concern in her eyes, while my dad's arm rests securely around her. Alice is up on the rail, screaming at whatever is going on in the game. And Bella, well, Bella's gaze travels the distance and her eyes pierce mine. Her hand is in a fist over the emblem on the front of her shirt — my shirt.

I know they will always support me, even if I fail them, but I refuse to let a cramp hold me down. My leg suddenly feels like it's relaxing. Whether it is real or not, I don't know — I don't care. As soon as the ref lets me, I come in, still in pain, but at least I can move my leg now.

I don't even try to keep playing at the speed I was before. I know for a fact I'm not able to, and I don't want to start cramping again. I try a couple of far crosses for Seth, who's still unexplainably running at full speed, but they end up either being too far or too short. My leg is seriously messed up, and I can't get the precision I need.

I could have probably continued in overdrive until I just ran into the ground, without thinking about the consequences. But there are consequences. The last minutes of a game are always the most difficult ones. Being so tired, it's very easy to make mistakes, and one mistake can cost you the game. I will not be foolish today, not when there's so much at stake.

So I drop back and help my team with the defense, taking advantage of any opportunity to pass the ball to Seth, but without overexerting myself… any more. If we're going to have to play for thirty more minutes, then I need to pace myself.

When the whistle is blown at the end of the ninety minutes, we are still tied 3-3. We get together in a huddle, as Waylon goes over some strategy. We're all exhausted but determined. He asks if I'm okay. He wants to use the last substitution to bring in fresh legs. We both agree it is best to bring in someone in a defensive position to help keep up with the Brazilian attack.

When the first half of extra time starts, we don't give away any chances. The pace of the game slows a bit, which helps me recover some energy. Seth keeps trying to score — he even yells at me to pass him the ball. His determination is inspiring, and I start moving forward again.

By the second half of extra time, we're both running on fumes, but we're still trying and we have gotten a couple of chances. Toward the end, I dribble past Gustavo and have a clear shot at Seth whose gotten rid of his defenders too. I don't get to make the shot though, instead Gustavo sweeps me again from behind.

At least this time, he gets a yellow card and we get a free kick.

I'm flat on the turf, face down, my fingers fisting the grass. I don't even have the energy to protest. I stay down, trying to breathe, my leg throbbing but at least not cramping. I am shattered though — I don't know if I can continue.

"Edward, c'mon!" Seth pulls at my shoulder, hovering over me. "Seven minutes left. This is our chance. C'mon, get up."

The kid keeps pulling with some force until I get up. I rest my hands on my knees, trying to catch my breath, as I measure the distance between the ball and the net.

I peek at Waylon who signals I should go for goal. I look at the bench, the rest of my teammates, everyone counting on me for this. I need to finish this game. We have no more substitutions, and I will not leave my team with one man down again.

"Not even thirty yards." Seth pants next to me, bringing my attention back to the free kick ahead. "Piece of cake," he says with a smile.

I look at him and then back at the goal. Running in pain is one thing, taking a precise direction-versus-force balanced shot is another.

I get up from my bent position and stumble a bit. I can't even hold my weight on my right leg at the moment. "Seth, you take it."

"What?" His eyebrows shoot up in disbelief.

"You can do this."

"Edward, don't mess around right now. This is our chance. You're flawless at this."

"Kid, my leg's fucked up, okay? I don't know if I can make the shot... but you can. We've been over this. You've gotten shots like this before."

"Shit..."

"Listen, they'd think I'd go for the left corner with my right foot. Look how the goalie is arranging the wall. You can easily get it in the right corner. They'll never expect it. You can do this."

"I… I don't know." He looks down, scratching his neck.

"Yes, you do." I put a hand on his shoulder, turning him around toward the ball. "C'mon, let's do this."

I set the ball carefully, with the air valve pointing where Seth is going to hit it. I stand with my left foot next to the ball and take a couple breaths through my mouth. In my mind, there's no one else here but Seth and me, that ball, and that net.

I take five steps back and stand with my legs wide in front of the ball, as Seth does the same. We usually have some kind of distraction like this, so that it's not obvious who is taking the kick. It's usually me though, and the Brazilians know this, so they pay no attention to Seth as he gets ready too.

I eye the wall of five Brazilian players, covering their parts, facing my direction. They stand about twenty yards between us and that net where this ball needs to be. I take a look a Seth, who is rolling his shoulders and taking a deep breath, completely focused.

He's ready — he can do this.

We both start our run about the same time, except I just jump over the ball and keep going, as Seth kicks it with the instep of his left foot, flicking it to the right so it could take a rolling effect.

I watch the ball roll, as if in slow motion, over the wall of jumping men, and then dip to the right, aiming for that top right corner and flying over the keeper's gloves straight into the goal. I watch the ball cling to the net, swinging back and forth, before it drops on the ground.

I turn to Seth, my arms extended, a fucking proud smile on my face.

_How do you like them flawless free kicks!_

3-4.

The crowd explodes and Seth drops to his knees, covering his face with his hands.

The team knocks him over as we pile up on top of him in complete euphoria.

As everyone get up and goes back to their positions, Seth stays on the ground, panting, arms covering his face.

"C'mon, kid," I say, extending my hand to him to help him up. "Five minutes left, we can do this."

I don't even know how to cope with the words out of my mouth. Five minutes left on the clock and we're winning. We're beating Brazil, in their home stadium, after being down 3-0 during the first half.

We all drop back and defend, trying not to make mistakes, as Brazil aims desperately to score. They get one clear chance, but Emmett saves it impeccably.

The American crowd's singing numbs away the Brazilians, and when the ref blows the final whistle, the place just roars.

I drop on the turf, flat on my back, trying to wrap my head around what just happened. My heart hammers in my chest as I look up at Rio de Janeiro's clear blue sky.

_I can't believe it, but we just won the World Cup._

**A/N:** *\o/*

Right... so... part 2 coming your way on Thursday!

Thanks for reading!

Ronnie.


	14. Chapter 13 Part 2 Celebrations

**Disclaimer: Stephenie Meyer owns **_**Twilight**_**. No copyright infringement is intended.**

**A/N:** Thanks to my lovely pre-readers Jaxy (Jax713) and Packy (_LittleLovely_) and my rock star beta Mel (mcc101180).

Special thanks to ordinary_vamp for her song suggestion! The song "Sexual healing" belongs to Marvin Gaye. ;)

Last chappy, here we go...

**Chapter 13. Part 2. Celebrations.**

I close my eyes for a bit and try to get air in my lungs. My fingers fist the grass at my sides, as the crowd continues to cheer. I have only managed a couple deep breaths, when Emmett lifts me from the ground.

I'm not quite sure how my body is moving at this point, but we catch up with our team, chanting, jumping, and clapping for our crowd, while the podium for the medal and trophy ceremony is arranged. The energy that buzzes within the stadium is mind-blowing — we are over the moon with excitement.

I stand next to Seth who has one hand on his hip and the other waving to the crowd, while he takes everything in. Fans hold signs for him that range from "marry me" to "making the US proud." I laugh when I look at some of the girls screaming. When I turn to look at him, he's now facing the ground, and the hand that was waving is now covering his face.

"Hey…" I put a hand on his back and pat him slightly, but when I feel him sniffling, my arm closes around his shoulders and my hand ruffles his hair. "It's okay, kid. You deserve this."

He takes a deep breath and pulls the neck of his shirt up to his forehead, covering his face. He wipes his face down with it, and with another breath, he composes himself. My arm stays over his shoulders as we continue our way around the stadium.

When we reach the bench area, my eyes find my family in the VIP area right above it, and I wave at them. Bella is next to them, still up, still clapping. I smile at her, as my hand moves to my chest and pats slightly the emblem on my shirt. She smiles back at me knowingly, and her hand mimics mine.

The Brazilians get their silver medals first as we wait in a line. I'm the last one in line, as the team captain. Seth is in front of me, fidgeting, his eyes roaming the crowd. I flick his ear, just for good measure, and he swats at my hand in annoyance as he continues searching.

"Who are you looking for?" I ask, flicking his ear again. "Who?" Flick. "Who?" Flick. "Who?" Flick.

"No one… stop!" When he turns to look at me, I can see he's a mess of nerves. So 120 minutes of an excruciating game he endures like a trooper, but one medal ceremony he's nervous about.

"Hey, relax. You just stand there, smile, get your medal, and move on. That's it. That's all. Nothing out of the ordinary."

"Maybe to you, 'cause you're Edward Cullen."

"So what? You're Seth Clearwater." I smile at him and ruffle his hair. "You're a star now, kid."

"No, I'm not."

"Lucy there would beg to differ." I point at the girl a couple rows up, who, as soon as Seth makes eye contact with her, displays a broad smile on her face, waving at him. I laugh as we start moving up the line.

After everyone else has gotten their medals, the FIFA president puts mine around my neck and shakes my hand. I nod at him as he grabs the World Cup.

He's saying something, congratulations I think, but I can't hear him. My hands itch to get around the neck of that trophy. I've been dreaming about this moment for so long, I can't really comprehend how I am standing here right now. When he hands it to me, the fingers of my left hand wrap tightly around it, while my right hand, still in a splint, holds it from underneath.

I take a deep breath as I face the stadium, my team buzzing behind me. I bring the statue to my lips and kiss the globe on the top, and then I lift it above my head with a roar — in _our_ moment of victory. The stadium explodes in cheers as we jump in celebration.

We get down onto the turf for pictures as the media is allowed on the field. I do one more round of recognition around the pitch, waving to the crowd as we pass the cup around. I'm surrounded by reporters, but I decline any interviews — there's only one person I'll be talking to.

When I finally find her, she's already transmitting live. The mic in her face, her back to the stadium behind a cardboard wall with ESPN written all over it. I chuckle when I see the wood box they have her up on, to increase her height I presume. She's still wearing my shirt, tied in a knot at her back, and that denim skirt that ends a couple inches above her knees.

I can't wait for this to be over so I can peel all of that off of her.

I smile as I come closer, and she looks at me from the corner of her eyes. She starts talking into her mic — something about getting the exclusive from Edward Cullen. I roll my eyes at her and nod, taking a sip of water and pushing the hair off of my forehead before coming into the camera frame.

I try to control my breathing so that I'm able to speak, but I'm still panting profusely. I feel lightheaded — my heart's about to hammer itself out of my chest. I'm standing next to her while she holds that annoying reporter mic in front of her. Oh and she's speaking, but I can't pick up the words. My eyes are lost on the way her lips move, on the gigantic smile plastered on her face, on the way her eyes shine with pride, with emotion, on the little US flags painted on her cheeks...

_God, could she possibly be any more adorable?  
_  
"... on how things started and where you ended up today," she finishes and brings the mic close to my face.

I can't get my eyes off of her. This clearly was a bad idea. I can't give an interview now. All I want is my lips on hers — to get her out of this place and into my hotel room.

_I deserve it, dammit._

She's looking at me, waiting for me to speak. We're on live TV.

_Shit._

"Er... what do you want me to say?"

"Well, tell me… how are you? How do you feel?"

_How do I feel?_

I take a deep breath. "Well, I'm very happy, very happy indeed."

_Geez, I can't even find words._

"And... um... I think we deserve it. We worked hard from beginning to end. So hard..." My eyes are glued to hers, and she smiles encouragingly.

_Does she expect me to continue talking?_

_God... I can't... I can't think._

I can barely breathe right. "I want to thank everyone who supported me from the beginning, who carried me through this..." I need to pause and take a breath. I feel the emotions catching up with me — exhaustion, elation, joy, pride. I'm quite frankly overwhelmed, and a big lump sets in my throat, but I force myself to continue. "My parents... my sister—" My voice breaks at the mention of my family, and I can't fucking believe I'm tearing up, right in front of Bella and the whole fucking world. I look down and choke in another breath, which I exhale roughly, puffing my cheeks, trying to hold everything inside.

Bella pulls the mic away from my face, leaving me some space to get my shit together so I don't start weeping like a little girl — a little girl who just won the fucking World Cup, but still a little girl.

"It's okay," she says, and I turn my eyes to hers again. She pushes her hair behind her ears and smiles at me again. "Maybe we can talk a bit about the game, about your decision to leave the free kick for Seth—"

But I interrupt her, because I wasn't done giving thanks. "And I want to thank you too." One hand reaches for her face while my other arm circles around her neck and I pull her lips to mine, closing my eyes.

The mic squishes between my chest and hers. My breath comes out roughly through my nose, as our lips crush together. I'm vaguely aware of the people around us gasping. I pull my face reluctantly from hers, kiss the side of her face, and with a shaky "I'm out," I storm out of the camera frame.

Overwhelmed, I march back out onto the pitch, where my teammates are still celebrating. The crowd's cheering is still deafening, and I scan the stadium again, running a hand through my hair, trying to grasp what we just achieved.

Someone hands me a US flag which I clutch in my hand. When I try to bring myself to move again, two small hands appear on my chest, as her arms hug me from behind.

"You did it!" Bella says in my ear, pulling me back. "I'm so proud of you."

I don't find words to say to her as she kisses my cheek.

I turn around, grab her elbow, and pull her close for a kiss. She kisses me back, smiling, not caring about the cameras surrounding us. I put my arms around her waist — US flag clutched in one hand — and pull her to me, deepening the kiss, as her hands fist my hair.

"Get a room!" Emmett says behind us, and I break the kiss with a chuckle. Bella's arm is around my waist and she hugs herself to me.

A room is, precisely, what we need to get.

Once the adrenaline leaves my body and I cool down, the pain on the back of my leg returns. After a quick shower, and reluctantly following Bella's orders, I go have it checked by the medics, under the condition that she comes with me. I end up regretting that decision because, as soon as the medic starts rubbing his fingers behind my leg, I want to scream like a baby.

I let go of her hand and clench my fingers on the patted surface of the examining table where I lay face down, trying hard not to scream. Then I feel her fingers over mine, trying to get me to relax.

"Edward, breathe," she orders. When I open my eyes, I see she's now crouched in front of me. Her expression surprises me though, it seems like she's trying hard not to laugh.

I let out a harsh breath and an "ow!" escapes my lips.

Bella giggles. She fucking giggles.

"Why are you laughing?" My tone is rough, my voice strained. The medic is still running his torturous fingers on my knotted muscle.

She tries to compose her face but fails. "You said 'ow', you big baby." She chuckles through the end of her sentence, and I gape at her, fucking dumbfounded. She is chuckling, giggling, at my suffering.

All right… so maybe I am over reacting.

No, I'm not. _It fucking hurts!_

I try to take a deep breath, hiding my face on my arm.

I can still hear her giggle, and I want to snap back at her, but my traitor lips are stretching into a smile as well.

"Stop laughing at me!" I say into my arm, laughing myself, just as the medic goes over a particularly tense spot on my leg.

I cringe and turn to glare at him. "Shit! Ow!"

The medic lifts his gloved hands from my leg as Bella snorts behind me.

"Tee-Tee, c'mon!" I drop my head on my arm again.

"All right, I'm sorry. I'm sorry." When she finally stops laughing, her fingers reach for my hair, and I exhale out in relief.

Once the excruciating massage is over, the medic wraps the back of my leg with ice packs which I'm told to keep on for twenty minutes.

Celebrations in the locker room go by in a blur. Champagne flows, but the more I drink, the more I'm ready to get out of here. We record special interviews with some of the major networks, but I'm frankly out of it. I answer to questions the best I can — put a smile on my face when needed — but I couldn't repeat what they were about even if I tried.

My eyes are fixed on the woman behind the camera — as she waits with the rest of the press — my mind on all the things I plan to do to her.

Once the interviews are over, we get a couple of hours to relax before the sponsors' dinner and award party, so we get ready to head back to the hotel.

I approach Bella while she's getting her things. "Where do you think you're going?"

"I thought you might want to rest for a bit before dinner." Her tone is uncertain as she eyes me suspiciously. If she thinks I'm going to let her walk away from me now, she's, well, wrong.

"You're coming with me," I say, locking my hand in hers.

"I am?" Her lips stretch out in a playful grin, one that tells me she wants this too.

"Yes." I smirk at her briefly before heading out to the bus.

We are done with protocol now, so the bus is frankly mayhem — crowded with some of my teammate's wives and girlfriends — and I find myself regretting not riding with Bernard. They are still passing around champagne bottles as Bella and I take our seats.

Seth comes closer to us, visibly inebriated. "Hi, Bella!" He sways and holds himself up on the back of her seat.

"Hey, Seth."

"She said yes," Seth slurs, his eyes almost shut.

"Who?" Bella is as clueless as I am.

"Lucy!" Seth's smile spreads over his face. "She'll come to the dinner."

"Oh… that's good," Bella says politely as I shake my head.

"You better hold off on the champagne then, kid… unless you want to puke on her shoes. We both know you can't hold your liquor."

Seth frowns at me as Emmett comes behind him, a huge-ass grin on his face. "I have just the song for you two!" He takes his phone out of his pocket, pointing at Bella and me, and walks to the front of the bus.

_Oh dear God…_

When the tune starts, I hang my head in shame.

_Of course…_

"Baaaaaaaaaaaaby, I'm hot just like an oveeeeen…" Emmett comes back, singing… dancing… running his hand down his torso.

Seth falls on the floor, laughing.

"I need some loviiiiiin'…" Emmett continues singing and starts dancing in front of Bella.

"Cut it out, Em," I say, getting up from my seat, a hand on his shoulder.

"It's okay… relax." Bella grabs my hand and holds me back.

Emmett hands me the bottle of champagne, which I decline, shaking my head. "Now, I just wanna know, who's gonna watch over Collin while _I_ get _my_ 'sexual healing'?"

"Not me…" I say, getting back in my seat, still holding Bella's hand.

"Of course not… Oooh! I know a better one!" Emmett says loudly, running to the front of the bus again.

_Oh for fuck's sake…_

I rub my fingers on my forehead as another embarrassingly explicit tune starts playing. Seth gets off the floor and is jumping and dancing now.

Bella laughs, tracing patterns with her fingers on my palm.

When the champagne bottle makes its way to us again, she grabs it this time and takes a swig from it, keeping her eyes on mine.

She licks her lips as she passes the bottle to me, and I stare at her, astonished.

"Fuck, E, she's a keeper."

I ignore Emmett's comment and smile at Bella, taking a swig from the bottle myself.

The rest of the ride to the hotel goes on the same way; my obnoxiously drunk teammates play music and dance, while my hand sits comfortably on Bella's lap. My eyes keep darting to her legs, half-exposed under the denim skirt she's wearing.

I can't help but notice how toned her legs are, and I wonder if she enjoys outdoor sports like I do... or maybe it's the yoga. I could try yoga with her. My brain wanders over to all the places I'd like to take her, all the things I want to do with her, until we make it to the hotel. Then I don't think about that anymore, because my mind is set on getting out of the chaos that is my team and getting her into my room.

Bella walks next to me, my arm around her as we make it through the hallway. Emmett keeps singing behind us, making us both laugh. I slide the key in and open the door.

"Have fun, kids…" Emmett laughs, smacking my ass.

Bella steps in, and I follow, closing the door behind her, exhaling in relief when my team's chants fade away.

_Alone at last._

My hands rest on the door, caging Bella between my arms. She's looking right up at me, an incredibly beautiful smile on her face.

I rest my forehead on hers, and she puts both hands on my cheeks.

"You were incredible today," she says, running her fingers over my jaw. "What a day, huh?"

"God, Bella…" I kiss her softly and, against the complaints from the back of my leg, slowly lower myself to my knees, trailing kisses over her neck, her chest, and her torso. "I don't have words for today." My hands roam her sides until they reach her hips and the line of skin exposed between the skirt and my shirt. I kiss the skin over her hip-bone and make my way over to her bellybutton. "I wanted to do that this morning."

Bella doesn't say anything, and when I look up, I can see that her eyes are closed, her head back against the door.

I move my hands to her back, where my shirt is in a knot.

"My jersey looks so good on you that I almost, _almost_, don't want it off of you." I undo the knot and slip my hands inside, gazing up at her as she smiles down at me.

I finally let my hands run over her legs, to her ankles, where I unhook the little straps of the sandals she's wearing. How she manages to walk around in these cork platforms is beyond me. Once I get rid of them, I stand up, locking my arms around her legs, bringing her up with me.

"World Cup's over," I say, kissing her neck. Bella hums under my lips, wrapping her legs around my waist. "You're all mine now."

My hands roam her body as my lips attack hers. My hand clutches her thigh as I pull her off from the door and into the living room. I stumble in my haste but manage to set her up on the kitchen counter, and my hands get rid of her — my — shirt. I kiss her neck as my hands work the clasp of her bra. Even with my splinted hand, I manage to get rid of it quite fast, and my lips travel from her neck to her breast, pressing her back on the counter, knocking down whatever was there, causing it to fall on the floor with a clatter.

Bella squirms under me as I lick and kiss her nipples.

She pushes me up and her hands lift my shirt over my head. Then she presses herself on me, her hand clutching my neck, her tongue eagerly slipping in my mouth.

_God… I want her so much._

I grab her again and lift her off the counter, trying to head to the bedroom. But the need for some friction is stronger than the voice in my head, and I end up pressing her against the wall of the hallway.

"Bella, I won't even make it to bed. I need to be inside of you — now."

"Yes… Please." Her hands move down my torso, reach my jeans, and start undoing the buttons.

_Fuck…_

"I just… I need… I have to get a—" As the need to just start pounding into her consumes me, I remember I don't have any protection on me.

"I'm on the pill. I trust you."

The fact that she was able to make out what I was trying to say is not what shocks me — to the point that I tear my mouth from her neck and stare at her — it's those three last words; they mean the world to me.

_She trusts me._

"You do?" My eyes search hers as I heave, still pressing her against the wall.

"I think I always have. I was just afraid to admit it to myself." Her fingers brush some of my hair off of my forehead.

_She trusts me._

My eyes are fixed on hers, the truth of her words pinning me down. "You don't know how long I've waited for you."

"All of two weeks?" She smiles tauntingly.

"You know that's not what I meant."

"I know," she says, cupping my face, bringing her lips to mine again.

I can't possibly wait anymore. I put her down and lower myself quickly, and with one hand, I pull her skirt up and seize her panties, lowering them to her ankles. Before I'm up, my jeans and underwear are on the floor as well.

As if we're synchronized already, my hands reach for her ass as her arms cling to my neck, and in the next second, she's hoisted up on me again, her back pressed on the wall.

Her hand reaches in between us, and I hiss into her neck when she closes her fingers around me and brings me to her entrance, rocking her hips, spreading her wetness on me.

My hands grasp her sides as I hold her up and then slowly bring her down, sinking into her. She gasps and her nails dig into my neck.

"Are you okay?" I manage to get out through a tight jaw.

She nods fervently, her eyes closed. I shut mine as well, needing a moment to get used to the feeling of her enveloping me this way. I drop my forehead on hers, already panting.

I start moving then, slowly at first, for as long as I can manage.

"You feel amazing," I say between pants.

Bella's moans do nothing to help my control, and sooner rather than later, I'm erratically pounding into her. I will take my time with her for round two, and three, and four… but right now, this is what we both need.

Bella meets my thrusts, making me moan into her neck. She stifles a scream into my chest as she comes undone and I follow immediately after.

I stand there, panting, one hand on the wall, the other holding her to me, until my right leg starts shaking under me, and I decide I need to sit for a bit. I turn Bella around, and with my back to the wall, deep inside of her still, I lower myself to the floor.

She's splattering kisses all over my neck and shoulders, as I try to rub my leg unnoticed.

"What's wrong?" She frowns, her scrutinizing gaze on me.

"Everything's perfect." I smile at her, my hand reaching for her face. Some of her hair is stuck to her forehead and I brush it back.

She eyes me suspiciously and her hand reaches for my leg. When she shifts her weight as she moves, I can't help but wince.

"You're hurting." She tries to get up, but my hands are fast on her hips, pushing her back onto my lap.

I exhale through my nose before I am able to speak again. "It's just a bit sore. I'm okay. Please, I don't want you to move yet."

She looks at me with worry in her eyes, but doesn't move away.

"Thank you," I say with conviction. She shrugs and shakes her hand at me, not really knowing what I'm thanking her for. My hand returns to her face, brushing more hair back. "For everything, really," I continue, my eyes glued to hers. "I was going to let my temper ruin everything. And then you came along, making me impossibly angrier, but saving me from myself at the same time."

She smiles but doesn't say anything. "You make me want to be better, Bella. To try to control myself… so, thank you. I couldn't have done it without you."

"Stop…" she says with a hand on my chest. "_You_ made it better. What you've done for Seth… You've made it better with your teammates, with your fans. Even with your sister and Jasper. It's all you, Edward. You should give yourself more credit."

I smirk at her again, deciding to change the topic, because, realistically, I don't know if I would have been here without her. "I want to hold your hand tonight when I introduce you to everyone." I reach for her hand and intertwine my fingers with hers. "Would that be okay?"

Her eyes travel from our joined hands to my face, and she nods her head. Her other hand is at my neck and slowly starts its way down. We stay quiet for a while, my eyes on her, her eyes following her fingers.

"Your body is surreal," she says, trailing a finger over my chest. "Every muscle so... defined... lean..." Her finger traces the shape of my abs down to my hip-bone. "It's like you're carved from stone."

I laugh through my nose, cupping her face in my hand. "Five-hour training sessions, six days a week, does that."

"It works," she says, biting her bottom lip.

"You should have seen me when I arrived in Old Trafford. I was this languid little kid. But after our first season, I had completely transformed my body, mind, and soul."

"I have trouble picturing you being little." She continues trailing her fingers over my body.

"I guess I wasn't really little. I mean, not _you_-little…" I smile, touching my finger to the tip of her nose.

"I'm not that little…" She raises one eyebrow at me warningly.

"Can you see over the dashboard in your car?" I challenge, my grin stretching on my face.

"Yes, I can," she retorts, but I can see it in her eyes…

"Liar…"

"Well, it's a big truck, so I do kind of have to stretch a little," she admits sheepishly.

When I start laughing, she swats a hand at my chest, before she resumes her finger patterns, this time down my arms.

"Anyway…" I try to continue, despite the fact that she's still naked in front of me. "I was tall. Just very skinny and— Bella, you better stop that. You're starting to stir things."

"Sorry…" She moves her hand to her thigh with a giggle. "I should probably go."

"What? Why?" My tone comes out whiny in my surprise.

"Well, I need to get ready, and so do you."

"I can have Bernard bring you your things here." I don't care if I sound desperate. She's not going anywhere.

"What? No…"

"Why not? You can get ready here."

"Edward…" Her eyes meet mine.

"Take a shower with me," I plead, my hands cupping her face.

"Does anyone ever get away with saying no to you?" She looks down in exasperation, but I know I can win this argument.

"You have. You told me I couldn't kiss you," I remind her. "You slapped me. Did you know I had never been slapped before? And you did. You slapped me. You slapped me good." My fingers close under her chin as I bring her to face me, unable to keep a straight face. "You've been really mean to me. I think you should make it up — showering with me, for starters."

"Very smooth, Cullen." She gives me a mischievous smile, one eyebrow up.

"C'mon, Tee-Tee, stay."

She looks into my eyes in defeat. "I guess I could call Jake, see if he can get my bag so Bernie can pick it up."

"That was easy!" I start laughing, and before she can complain, I close one arm around her waist and help myself up with my other hand, pulling her up with me.

"I _can_ walk, you know?" Her arms are around my neck as she smiles at me.

"I know… I just don't want to let you go yet."

_T-minus one minute for round two._

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

I sit on the couch in the living room, waiting for Bella. The TV is on the sports channel running the World Cup news over and over. I sink deeper in the couch as I wait, my eyes fluttering closed. Next thing I know, the clicking of her heels on the tile floors wakes me up.

She's in a light pink dress, with a ruffled skirt that ends midway through her thighs. Her legs seem to go on forever and end in skin colored pumps. She looks incredible.

She walks closer to me, as I try to sit up on the couch, still a little groggy from sleep. Her hair is up in a loose bun, strands falling from it on each side of her face. She twirls a finger on them as she approaches me.

I'm finally able to get up from the couch, my stiff leg making me stumble forward to meet her.

"You're fucking gorgeous." My fingers touch the fabric of the dress at her hips.

"Thanks." She laughs, looking up at me, as her hands reach for my tie, straightening it.

The bracelet on her wrist catches my attention. "This is pretty," I say, turning her hand in mine and kissing her wrist.

"It was my mom's," she says with a sad smile.

"Oh…"

"She passed away when I was little."

"I'm sorry." I rub my nose on the inside of her arm. There are so many things I don't know about Bella yet. Things I want to know about her. About her childhood, her family, her friends. I want to know everything.

"It's okay," she says with a little shrug, and her smile turns more real. "Are you ready?"

"I am," I say, just like I did this morning, except this time I say out loud the rest of my thoughts. "I am ready for everything." The double meaning of my words is not lost on me.

She shakes her head and walks in front of me to the door. My eyes scan her figure in that dress while my hand sets on her lower back.

"I hope this doesn't have a hidden zipper like that other black one I was never able to get off of you," I say as we reach the door.

She turns around, her back to the door, a devious smirk on her face. Stepping closer to me, she runs a finger over my tie.

"Just in case you fail to find the zipper again, I'm not wearing any underwear." She takes one step back, her hand reaching for the knob, turning it open with a click.

The palm of my hand lands on the door with a smack next to her face, making her jump a little, as I slam the door closed and lean over to her. My other hand, still at her hips, clenches the ruffles of her dress.

I groan as my nose touches hers. "Don't tease me like that, Tee-Tee."

"I'm sorry." She breathes out shakily, her hand closing on my tie, her teeth nibbling on her bottom lip.

"No you're not." I chuckle as my lips meet hers. I take a deep breath before I tear my face from hers. "You're evil."

She smiles while wiping her gloss off my lips. "How do you think _you_ look in your perfectly tailored, three-piece, black-on-black suit? I'll be having just as much trouble keeping my hands off of you."

"Doubtful…"

"We'll see," she says with a shrug.

"Let's go before I feel obligated to prove you wrong, right here, right now."

We both take a deep breath before I open the door and we walk out to the hallway, hand in hand.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

Bella sits at the table with my parents as I meet with sponsors and give interviews. I take little breaks between things to sit next to her. I find it equally difficult to keep my eyes off of her and my hand off her thighs.

Waylon gives an emotional speech that makes my mother cry. He congratulates all of us, takes his hat off to us, for not giving up and fighting until the last second. He says he's never been prouder of his squad.

Seth, in his popped collar, dances with his girl all night. I give it to the kid, for having the energy to party like that. I, on the other hand, am ready to leave. I'm exhausted, I'm sore, but most importantly, I can't wait to get my hands on Bella again.

When my parents finally say they're calling it a night, I ask Bella if she wants to leave too and she nods. My sister decides to stay with Jasper a little longer.

As the valet brings my dad's rental, my mother embraces me in a hug.

"We are so proud of you, son." Tears prick at her eyes again.

"Mom, stop."

My mom moves to hug Bella as my dad pats my back.

"Bella," my mom says, her hand on Bella's arm. "We'll see you back home?"

"Uh… yes?" Bella answers shakily, and my mom shoots me a reproaching look.

My dad comes to the rescue, grabbing my mother's shoulder.

"Esme, dear, let's leave the kids to rest. Edward's had a long day. We can discuss summer plans another time. Bella, son, have a good night."

My mom doesn't look convinced, but she nods and smiles at Bella and me before they head to the car.

On the way to the hotel, I think about what's next. Bella and I haven't talked about it yet, but we'll somehow make it work. I'm not worried. Bella and me, it just feels right. Even right now, sitting in the back of this car, her tucked under my arm, it feels like we've been together forever. It does not feel like I only met her a couple weeks ago. And yet I want every second of every moment I get with her.

Once in the hotel suite, Bella pushes me onto the couch, one hand on my chest, while the other pulls on my tie.

"Sit," she orders with a smile.

I can feel the edges of my lips stretching into a grin as well. I am completely hopeless against my Tiny Terror. I do as she says and sink on the couch with a huff, extending my leg in relief.

She steps out of her shoes and starts loosening my tie as she kneels on the couch between my legs. "You won the World Cup today." Her smile is radiant, and the pride in her eyes is exhilarating. She pulls the tie over my neck, and I rest my head back, chuckling at how surreal this is. We won the World Cup and somehow I also get to have Bella.

She runs her hands over my shoulders, under my jacket, as she helps me get rid of it. She rids me of my vest next, before continuing unbuttoning the top of my shirt, opening up the neck as she smiles. "Better?"

I nod and smile back at her, relieved to not feel so claustrophobic anymore.

"How's your leg?" She runs a hand over my thigh.

"I'm all right." I shrug. My leg is sore, but not that much more than the rest of my body. It's been a physically and mentally intense journey.

When her hand reaches for my ear, I seize her wrist before she can get her fingers in my hair. I wouldn't be able to resist that right now. I don't need any more help or reason to pass out on the couch. I bring her hand to my mouth instead and shake my head at her.

"I thought you liked that." There's a bit of disappointment in her voice.

"I do..." I say, trailing kisses down her wrist. "Incredibly so..." She giggles when I reach the inside of her elbow. "But it also puts me to sleep, and I don't want to sleep right now."

"You don't?" She gives me a mischievous smile.

"Uh-uh..."

"You must be tired..." she says, still smiling, trailing her fingers on the scruff down my jaw.

"Not _that _tired."

"You're doing the squinty eyes."

I smirk at her, squinting my eyes further on purpose. "Tee-Tee, I'm not tired..." I grab her wrists again. "I'm ready to go all night."

I pull her to me, my hands roaming the back of her dress, searching for the zipper. I can feel it under the ruffles, but I can't find the damn tab to pull.

I groan as she giggles.

I bring my hands in front of me and try to take the splint off in frustration.

"Hey, stop."

"I'm over this fucking splint. Can't move my hand right."

"Leave it on. Here…" She bends her arm to her back and directs my fingers to this itty-bitty, barely-there, tear-drop shaped, pull tab, which is not only minuscule, but it's also hiding inside of her dress.

"What the hell?" I pull the zipper down slowly. "That sneaky bastard!"

Bella laughs, holding the dress on the front with her hand. I get up from the couch, bringing her up with me as she giggles into my shoulder.

I don't get sidetracked this time and make it to the bedroom. I set her on top of the bed which puts her about a foot above me.

"Hi, shorty." She bounces on the bed as I let her go, holding her dress to her chest.

I smile at her, grabbing her hands, bringing her close to me and effectively releasing her dress. Bella kisses me eagerly, like I have come to know and crave, while her hands work on the buttons of my shirt.

My shirt drops on the floor as she steps out of her dress and toes it off of the bed as well. She lowers herself on the mattress, pulling on my belt. I comply, getting on top of her, as her hands reach my pants.

With the three functional fingers of my right hand, I seize her wrists and bring them over her head.

"I'm taking my time now. There's no rush." I begin kissing her at her wrist and work my way down her arm as she squirms.

"Tickles…" she whispers, but the way her legs clench around me tells me it's more than that.

And just as I promised her last night, I claim every inch of her as mine with a kiss, a lick or a nibble, with the touch of a finger or two, or a rub with my nose — I make Bella completely mine, until she screams it so.

Once I am inside of her, I moan into her shoulder in relief — I have been aching for her all night. Neither of us holding back now, we give everything to each other until there's nothing else to give, and I collapse next to her.

My ragged breathing and her little hums are the only noises that can be heard in the room. We stay like this for a while, just catching our breath, until I feel Bella move next to me, her hand behind my ear, her fingers in my hair.

"Bella, no." I plead, without enough energy to actually grab her hand. "I don't want to sleep."

"Why not? You gotta be exhausted."

She starts tracing patterns behind my ear and I take a deep breath. "But you're here…" I try to make my point without giving in to her hypnotizing caresses. "You're here, and I can finally have you. I don't want to waste time sleeping."

"I'll still be here tomorrow." Her voice is soft next to me, and I turn around to face her.

"Say you'll come back with me," I blurt out. I was hoping to ask her in a better way, but I don't think there's any energy left in my body for a well-functioning brain.

"Back where?" She absentmindedly moves her fingers from my head to my shoulders.

"Back to the US, to L.A."

"Well, I have to go back too."

"I know, silly. That's not what I'm saying," I press, trying to get her to understand.

"What are you saying, then?"

"I have to do press and sponsors shit for a couple of days, but then I should get some time off, before having to go back to England. I want you with me."

She smiles, her eyes on my shoulder, where her fingers are tracing circles.

"What are your plans for vacation?" she asks casually, as if she either misunderstood or decided to completely disregard my invitation.

"Well, I could really use some rest, and I've always wanted to go to Costa Rica. There's rock climbing, canopying, rafting, rappelling, surfing..."

"That's your idea of resting?" Her eyes finally meet mine, and she smiles.

"I don't know," I say with a shrug. "It sounds like fun though. We could do something else."

"We?"

"Bella, I only get two weeks of vacation before I have to be back at Old Trafford for next season's training. I'm not going anywhere without you."

She moves closer and kisses my shoulder. "So, Costa Rica?"

"If you want."

"It does sound like fun."

I hug her closer to me and kiss her forehead, deciding I should just go for it and ask her. "Would you come with me to England too?"

She gets up on her elbow and stares at me seriously. "Edward, I'm not moving to England."

_Well, it was a long shot._

"Okay. It's okay." I wave my hand out in surrender, before Tinny Terror is awoken. "I just thought I'd ask."

"I have my job, my dad… my life is in L.A."

"I understand," I say, my hand running over her hair, my mind running over other possibilities. "We'll figure something out."

She relaxes and smiles weakly.

"There's always breaks, holidays, long weekends…" I continue. "We'll make it work, okay?"

"Okay." She kisses me softly, her hand reaching for my ear again. This time I let her as I circle my arm around her and close my eyes.

Content to have Bella in my arms, I begin to relax and surrender to sleep. She'll be with me tomorrow, and the day after that. We'll work it out through the long distance, and it will be okay, and it will be enough. For now.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

**A/N:** Well, there you have it. This was my grown-out-of-control-OS-turned-into-multi-chapter! I hope you liked it and thank you so much for reading it! I had a blast writing it (especially perving on all the hot soccer players out there for… er… research, and inspiration…)

Here's the gif that inspired the whole thing (bit . ly/QX7xcG) just remove the spaces.

As I said before, I couldn't have done this without Jaxy, Packy and Mel. They are the TT to my PAA. It also wouldn't have been nearly as fun without Niki, my perving companion. Believe it or not, my sweet husband helped me a lot with this fic! He'll never read this, but I thank him too. And since he's only five inches taller than me, Kristen and all her … er… experience, made TT and PAA's size difference realistic. ;)

So… yeah… this wouldn't be anywhere without all of you, so thank you and I love you all!

*happy tears*

Ronnie.


	15. Epilogue Part 1

**Disclaimer: Stephenie Meyer owns **_**Twilight**_**. No copyright infringement is intended.**

**A/N: **Well, hello there! I hope everyone had a nice holiday break and a happy start of the new year. A few of you were wondering what would happen to WorldCupWard and his Tee-Tee, so I have written an epilogue. As usual, it got out of hand… so I have split it in two. Here's the first part. I will post the second part on Thursday.

Of course, none of this would have been possible without my beautiful pre-readers Packy and Jaxy, or my kick-ass beta Mel.

**Dedicated to LadyN (Happy birthday, bb!)**

**Epilogue. Part 1.**

"One hundred million Euros!"

"What?"

"That's how much they're offering!"

I look up at him, but it doesn't seem like he's joking. "That's impossible."

"See for yourself..." he says, pushing the folder my way. "Four year contract."

I stare at the unopened folder in my hands and take a deep breath.

_Unbelievable..._

_One hundred mil..._

It's truly ridiculous how much money these clubs make. How could they offer that much money for me?

"How long do I get to think about it?" I run a finger over the edges of the folder and look at my watch — three hours until my flight.

"Seventy-two hours... but Edward, this is a no-brainer. It's Real Madrid, for fuck's sake."

_No-brainer... right..._

I peek up at him with a smirk. He doesn't know how much I've been thinking about this. He doesn't know how much things have changed. He doesn't know me at all.

I grab the folder in my hands and rise from the chair. "You have a good day, Aro."

"What should I tell them?" he asks nervously from behind me.

"I'm taking my seventy-two hours. So I don't know, tell them just that." I shrug at him as I walk to the door, folder in hand.

I hide under my hood as I rush to the car, trying to not get soaked. It's slightly above freezing and raining in Manchester, as usual.

I sit in the back of the car and wipe the water off the folder on my lap. I glance at Bernard, his eyes on me through the rearview mirror.

"I know you're dying to ask," I guess, and he laughs.

"How much?"

"One hundred mil."

His eyebrows shoot up into his forehead as he lets out a whistle. "Bloody hell!"

I laugh at Bernard and shake my head, staring at the drops of rain falling on the window. He starts the car and I peek at my watch again.

"Are you ready?"

Unlike Aro, Bernard knows me very well. He understands how difficult these past few months have been for me. So it's with a knowing smile on my face that I look up at him again through the mirror to answer his question.

"Undeniably yes."

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

The flight is, as usual, excruciating. Twelve hours inside a plane is very easily uncomfortable for most people, but for me, it's downright torture. There's nothing to do but sit. And even in my first class seat, there's no leg room — none at all.

Trying to sleep is pretty much useless, plus it won't help my jet lag once I get to the States. So I read Real Madrid's offer three times, play FIFA13 on my PSP, and watch highlights of old games on my iPad. Six hours pass, and I am ready to crawl out of my skin.

I envy Bernard and his ability to sleep on command. He says it's part of the job — that when you're on call 24/7, you learn to sleep while you can, when you can. I wish I could sleep when I want to, but I can barely manage to sleep when I'm tired. Bella, on the other hand, is able to make me snooze when she pleases, just by threading her fingers through my hair. I smile in anticipation and take off my beanie, scratching the back of my neck. When Bernard starts snoring, my smile disappears, and I turn to scowl at him before I put my headphones back in place.

With Real Madrid's offer still on my lap, I stare at the back of the seat in front of me, crack my neck a couple times, and let out a deep breath. I am completely exhausted and very much looking forward to the mid-season break, even if it's just for two weeks.

In all honesty, it has been a crazy, draining few months. I lean back in my seat and think of how much has changed in such a short time.

_After we won the World Cup with the US National Team, all eyes were on me once I was back in England. The club's expectations of my performance skyrocketed, and I was under an overwhelming amount of pressure. I was suddenly being blamed for our first loss after I failed to convert what would have been the equalizer penalty kick. We lost the next few games as well. We were having the worst start of season in Manchester United history, and I was being unfairly blamed for everything._

_I tried my best to deal with it in my newly reformed, calmed-down manner. But as the days passed, the anger kept building and building, and after our sixth loss in a row, I finally snapped. The media, of course, took advantage of it. They were camera ready and in my way as I tried to get back into the locker rooms. I was angry. I was frustrated. I was exhausted. I may have kicked a door or two. I had no control over what came out of my mouth that day, but of course, I was quoted explicitly criticizing my team in every paper the next day._

_Everything went downhill from there. Rumors started that I wasn't happy with my team — that I wanted to leave. And it was all beside the point. Yes, I was unhappy. And yes, my team wasn't working together well. But that wasn't what was truly important — there was something wrong with _me_. I had lost it... it... my self-confidence... my mojo. I hadn't converted a single free kick since the season started._

_That Monday, late after practice, it was just me and that goal, trying to figure out what the hell was wrong with me, or my legs, or my aim, or my focus._

_Over the crossbar. I tried again._

_Wide. Again._

_Hit the post. Again._

_Again._

_Again._

_I had lost count of how many free kicks I had taken when I dropped on the turf with every single muscle on my body aching. I looked at my watch — only eleven p.m. — I couldn't even call Bella because she'd still be working. With my arms wrapped around my knees, and my forehead resting over them, I waited for my breathing to get back to normal._

_"You're overthinking it." The voice came from the sideline of the pitch. It was a joking tone I recognized, but one that made no sense to be there at the field. Once I lifted my head, I could see him, juggling a ball with his head, a few feet away from me._

_"Seth?"_

_He bent over and controlled the ball on his back, smiling smugly at me._

_"What are you doing here?"_

_He finally let the ball fall and walked closer before dropping next to me._

_"I was in the neighborhood," he said with a shrug. "I watched your game yesterday. What's up with you?" __His tone turned uncharacteristically serious all of the sudden._

_As soon as he brought my game up, I got defensive. "Nothing is up with me."_

_"You're letting them get to you."_

_"It's really nothing..."I reached for the ball and turned it in my hands, inspecting it and effectively avoiding Seth's scrutinizing gaze._

_"Someone told me once that I'm the only one who controls what gets into my head." He remembered clearly the advice I gave to him before._

"_Wise words."_

_"Seriously though—"_

_"Seth..." I interrupted him, knowing very well he would keep going. He wouldn't be Seth if he wasn't a pain in the ass._

_"You looked nervous on the pitch yesterday... Uncertain — lacking confidence. What's going on?" _

_Even though his observation of yesterday's events was right on, it only made me snap back angrily. "Nothing!" _

_"Are you really thinking of leaving?" he still asked, but in a much lower tone._

_I groaned and took a deep breath. "Seth, what are you doing in England?"_

_When his eyes met mine, he realized that topic of conversation was over. He shook his head, and a small smirk appeared on his face. "Well, I may be in talks with Arsenal FC."_

"_Are you serious?"_

_"They made me an offer today." His grin stretched from ear to ear._

_"Holy shit! That's great!"_

_"I guess..."He shrugged and looked down. It was very much like him to try to pretend this wasn't a huge deal._

_"Don't play this down, kid. This is a great opportunity."_

_"I know..." He sighed. "But..."_

_"But what?"_

_When he looked up, he stretched his hands in front of me, balancing them up and down as he spoke. "You know… Big fish, little pond. Small fish, big pond."_

_"What are you talking about, Seth?" I scoffed. "You won't be a small fish, not even here."_

_I found the idea of Seth not being good enough for the English Premier League ridiculous, but I could see it in him — he didn't think he was._

_"Listen, kid." I started again, trying to talk some sense into him. "There's nothing compared to playing in Europe. Trust me. The passion they have for this sport is unparalleled with anywhere else in the world... except maybe South America, but here they have the resources to make it work. I know you might think the US has been slowly improving. And it's true. I mean, at an international level, yes. But that's not true for the national league, at least not yet. You're too good for LA Galaxy. Don't waste this opportunity."_

As I recall the words I said to Seth, my fingers flip the pages on Real Madrid's offer again. I meant every word I said back then, and I still feel that way. It's just... maybe that just doesn't apply to me anymore. I feel... empty in Europe. I'm not enjoying it anymore.

Football is my life — has been since forever — but I don't need a one hundred million Euros contract to play. I could do it just fine, and enjoy it as well, in the States, with Bella.

_Seth and I ended up going out for drinks that night. We discussed his offer from Arsenal, and his mind was pretty much made before he left Manchester the next morning. _

_The calm that Seth brought with him only lasted a couple days though, because for Tuesday's game I was not on the starting lineup. I might have thrown a temper tantrum or two. I could feel myself slowly falling apart, with nothing to grab on to. _

_"He fucking benched me!" I growled into the phone as I flopped on the bed._

_"Edward..." Her tone was calmed as usual._

_I, however, was raging. "He fucking benched me, and we still lost!"_

_"I think some rest might do you good. You can't play every ga—"_

_Rest… there was that dreadful word again. I groaned, running a hand down my face. "I don't need any fucking rest, okay? I just need to get my mojo back."_

_"Precisely, I think you sh—"_

_I couldn't let her finish because nothing she could say would make me feel better. There was only one thing she could do. "Can you come this weekend?"_

_She didn't answer but instead sighed into the speaker._

_"It's been three weeks, Tee-Tee, please."_

_She didn't say no right away, so I reached for my laptop. I hadn't been able to take any breaks whatsoever. Being in full season plus international commitments, I would get maybe a day, day and a half off, not nearly enough time to fly to L.A. I had been stuck in England since our trip to Costa Rica. Three weeks without Bella already felt like too much._

_I purchased her ticket online before she could object._

_I busted my ass over training that week. There was no way Coach would bench me on Saturday. Not when Bella was coming to my game. He didn't, and we won our first game of the season. Just like that I had found my mojo._

_The weekend ended way too soon though. Letting Bella go on Monday morning had been one of the hardest things I had ever done. I tried to keep it together in front of her. But I could feel it as soon as she walked through those doors — she had taken a piece of me with her, and I was already dreading the time I needed to wait until she could come back next._

I run a hand down my face with a sigh. I knew it since back then. She's the one. I can't function without her anymore. I don't want to even try. Which is why the offer that sits on my lap, and the opportunity to play in the biggest football club that ever existed, means nothing if I can't have Bella by my side.

Everything with us has moved so fast, I haven't even had time to tell her I love her yet. I've tried to refrain myself, tone myself down, not to scare her away or overwhelm her. But my mind — and my heart — are set. She's who I want. I know she cares about me too, but she's being careful, not wanting to get hurt.

With a sigh, I put the folder back in my bag and get my iPad out. A smile spreads on my face as her picture appears — deep asleep on my bed, her hair over her shoulder and the pillow, her legs sticking out of my club's jersey. She had said she sleeps in my jersey the night before a game, as some sort of tradition. I didn't tell her I don't believe in any of that superstitious crap, because honestly, there is nothing sexier than Bella in just her panties and my jersey.

It made sleeping next to her a little harder than usual the night before a game, in the sense that I needed to keep my hands to myself, but we worked out a deal where she would also sleep in it the night after, when the no-sex rule was a moot point.

I remember exactly the morning I took this pic...

_It was the second time she came to visit me, for our Champions League game against none other than Barcelona FC. We beat them at home, and I had one of the best games of my career. But that was the night Bella noticed my limping. It wasn't much. I'd had an achy spot above my ankle that wouldn't go away, and it would get worse after every game. We didn't even make it to bed for my post-game coital celebration. As soon as I picked her up, she noticed me limping and insisted we go to the doctor._

_"Well, your ankle is fine," Doc declared, looking at my X-ray._

_"See? I told you!" I bitchfaced Bella. What an unnecessary waste of our limited sex time!_

_"Your fibula, however..." Doc continued, pointing to the image. "Small stress fracture, right here."_

_I squinted my eyes to see the barely there fuzzy smear on my bone. "That's nothing."_

_"That's what's hurting."_

_"It doesn't hurt that bad. It will go away." I waved him off._

_"Hurts enough to make you limp." The voice came from next to me, and I turned to glare at Bella who just glared right back at me. She seemed genuinely pissed. Her arms crossed over her chest in a menacing stance. It made me want to smile._

_"Good news is," Doc continued, drawing my attention back to him, "all you need is rest."_

_"All right..." I said, getting down from the table. "I'll take it easy the next couple of days."_

_I grabbed my jacket from the chair and nodded to Bella, gesturing for the door._

_"No, Edward," Doc said sternly, typing into his computer. "I'm ordering you off the field for two weeks — full rest."_

_"W-what?!"My voice broke in utter disbelief._

_"We X-ray again in two weeks." He resumed typing into his computer. "If there's no pain, you can start training again."_

_"You can't be serious. It doesn't even hurt that bad!" I watched as he typed, waiting for him to say it was all just a fucked-up joke._

_"It's only going to get worse..." He raised his eyebrows at me, the fucking asshole._

_"Oh, I didn't know they taught how to see the future in Sports Medicine school."_

_"Edward..." Her voice came from next to me with a reproaching tone, but I ignored it._

_"I want a second opinion."_

_"Feel free to get one," Doc snapped challengingly. "This, however..." he waved to the screen of his computer "…is the report that's going in the team's file."_

_I huffed through my nose, completely out of words. I wanted to scream at him. I wanted to knock his computer over. My hands were in fists at my sides as I breathed hard, trying to come up with something. Doc and I stared at each other until I felt Bella's fingers trying to loosen my hand._

_I slowly unclenched my fist, and she intertwined her fingers with mine. With her thumb, she traced circles on my palm, and I sighed in defeat._

_"Doc, please. Two weeks is too long. I'll miss the derby game!" I closed my eyes and rubbed my fingers on my forehead as the thoughts of what this meant assaulted me._

_"If you continue to play like this, you'll risk missing a lot more." Doc's condescending tone came from his desk, and I opened my eyes in time to watch his matching expression as he got up and moved closer to me. _

_I took off my cap and scratched my head, ran a hand down my face, looked down, then at Bella and then back at Doc._

_"What _can_ I do?" I was so lost._

_"Rest. That's it. You'll see the physical therapist first thing tomorrow morning. She might let you bike or swim..." Whatever else he ordered didn't matter to me anymore._

_Once out of the doc's office, Bella let go of my hand and stepped in front of me with one finger up on my chest accusingly._ _"How long has it been hurting?"_

_"I don't know. Not too long." I was hoping I could play it down, and we could move past it quickly. The weekend didn't have enough hours for everything I wanted to do to her._

_"You've been playing, training, in pain without telling anyone?" Of course, she wouldn't let it go that easily, like the terror-inducing, five-feet fire cracker that she was. _

_A small laugh escaped my lips. "It doesn't hurt that bad."_

_"How long? Tell me." One of her eyebrows raised — she wasn't in the mood for any jokes._

_"Bella..." I sighed in defeat._

_"Edward, tell me."_

_"Just... a few weeks." I shrugged, knowing how much she hated it. I could see it on her face — she was slowly losing her patience with me._

_"Weeks?!"_

_"It got a little better. Then a little worse," I tried to explain. "I thought it would just go away."_

_She took a deep breath, her hands on her hips. "You're taking that two-week break, Edward. Even if I have to stay here and make sure of it myself."_

_I smiled at her, running a hand on her cheek. I decided to save my anger and frustration for not being able to play for later — for when she left me — but at that moment, all I wanted to do was be with her. "I'd break my ankle if that makes you stay."_

_She melted a little but shook her head, looking down. "Edward, be serious. I'm so angry at you."_

_"Don't be mad at me, Tee-Tee. I'm injured. I need some lovin'."_

_As soon as we arrived at my apartment, she ordered me to the couch. I complied but brought her with me, setting her on my lap, her legs straddling my thighs._

_"You really haven't had any rest since the World Cup. Maybe this is your body telling you to slow down — to take a break."_

_She was right. Right after the World Cup, we had gone back to L.A., and I was swamped with press and sponsor commitments. Then we had gone to Costa Rica for a week, but I can't say we did much resting there either. I crammed our trip with infinite activities, and in the downtime, I dedicated myself to getting to know Bella's body, mind, and soul._

_"Let's focus on the positive..." She peeled the beanie from my head and ran her fingers through my hair, bringing me back to our moment on the couch. "You can catch up on your reading," she said with a playful smile, and I snorted. She had tried to get me to read this book in Costa Rica... I only got through two pages. I could not comprehend how she would like to sit on the sand and read, when there were a million different things we could do._

_"They may let you swim and bike..." Her fingers ran over my neck and down my arms to my hands which rested on her hips. "You like that."_

_"Football is what I do, Bella. That's what I like..."_

_"That's not focusing on the positive." Her hands trailed down my torso to the fly of my jeans. She rocked her hips once before she scooted back on my thighs so her hands could start undoing my pants._

_Her eyes shone mischievously, and she kept them fixed on mine as her fingers released me from my underwear. I hissed and dropped my head back on the couch when she stroked me for the first time. She pulled at my chin with her other hand. She wanted me to see. God, she wanted me to see._

_With one hand still clasped around me and her eyes fixed on mine, she lowered herself to the floor, where she knelt right between my legs. Her tongue peeked between her lips, and she wet the bottom one before her teeth trapped one corner. My eyes wanted to roll back in my head, but I forced myself to keep them open as she stroked me again, slowly, so slowly, while keeping a firm grip on me._

_She held my gaze as her face inched closer. I couldn't contain the groan that escaped from my lips when her tongue slipped out one more time and she licked the tip. _

I open my eyes, startled, and groan when I look around the plane. Bernard is still snoring beside me. My iPad has fallen on my foot which is probably what brought me back from my daydream. I futilely try to find a comfortable position on my chair, but I'm really fucking hard, and it's really fucking uncomfortable. So with a groan, I get up and head to the minuscule airplane restroom.

My hand feels wrong on my cock — my fingers look nothing like Bella's delicate ones that barely meet when they circle around me — but I don't care. I try to picture her face when I look down, but it doesn't work. I hold myself up with a hand on the mirror as I stroke myself angrily until I come.

In theory, it should have made me feel better, but it didn't. I'm still grumpy as shit when I return to my seat, but at least I'm not painfully hard anymore. I need Bella. I need her hands on me, her lips on me. I need to be in her. I need her everywhere.

I fucking hate this so much.

Earphones on, I look out the window and try to relax. It doesn't take long until my eyes start fluttering closed.

_The sun was peeking through the window when I opened my eyes. Instinctively, my arm tightened around Bella's waist and pulled her even closer to me, burying my nose in the back of her neck and taking a deep breath._

_I stretched my left leg and rolled my ankle, testing if it was still hurting, and winced when it did. Resting is the worst kind of treatment for injuries... it takes so fucking long! _

_It was only seven in the morning, and thanks to my stress fracture, I had no training to go to. Nothing to do until ten in the morning. I ran my nose over Bella's shoulder, peppering kisses down her arm._

_I went quickly to the bathroom, and on my way back, I couldn't resist taking a pic of her with my phone. She was a sight to behold._

_She hummed a little when I turned her around and set her flat on the bed. I knew she was tired, still jet lagged, and I was probably tired too... we had only gone to bed a couple hours before... but I couldn't go back to sleep. Not as hard as I was, and definitely not with her by my side wearing only her panties and my jersey._

_I started at her neck and worked my way down, running my nose on her skin and dropping kisses all over her. She stirred when I lifted the jersey off her, stopping at her bellybutton, and ran my finger over the pinkish birthmark next to it. I've memorized them all — every birthmark, every mole, every freckle on her skin._

_When I reached the hem of her underwear, she let out a small sigh but didn't open her eyes. Once I got rid of her panties, I kneeled between her legs and grabbed her right foot. Bringing it closer to my face, I planted kisses from her ankle and up her leg, while my other hand rubbed her thigh._

_"Edward..." she finally said as I kissed her inner thighs. "Wha—"_

_The word got caught in her throat as I ran my tongue between her folds and kissed her clit — tasting her, savoring her, while my hands roamed her hips..._

My mouth feels cotton-dry when I open my eyes.

_Fuck!_

I swallow hard, running a hand down my face, shifting in my seat. I glare at my watch, calculating the hours left on this torturous flight. After a quick stop to the restroom again, I decide I won't risk closing my eyes the rest of the way.

Bella wasn't able to stay with me for longer than a few days, but she forced me to comply with the full rest that Doc ordered. I ended up missing the derby game, but I recovered well enough to be back in the starting lineup after a week and a half.

She only came to visit me once more, about a month ago, again for only a couple of days and to attend one of my games. Of course time wasn't really enough, and I loathed the moment she left. So to say I was looking forward to this break was clearly an understatement.

_T-minus three hours until I see my Tee-Tee again._

**A/N:**

Because nothing says I-love-you-and-happy-birthday better than a c0ckblocking chappy!

;) See you Thursday!

Ronnie.


	16. Epilogue Part 2

**Disclaimer: Stephenie Meyer owns **_**Twilight**_**. No copyright infringement is intended.**

**A/N: **All the love to my beautiful pre-readers Packy and Jaxy, and my kick-ass beta Mel.

Sorry for the delay, RL got in the way of things... but anyway, here is part 2 of the epilogue!

OMG so Twific Crackmum nominated MoV for Fic of the Week over at The Lemonade Stand. What an honor! There are great authors/fics there so go vote!

**Dedicated to LadyN (Happy birthday, part 2!)**

**Epilogue. Part 2.**

Thankfully, we get through LAX unnoticed. A swarm of paps would have done nothing to help my shitty mood. My neck and back are achy. My legs are stiff. At least, it's bright and sunny in L.A., only two in the afternoon, and in the mid-fifties — perfect December weather.

I'm still grumpy as fuck as I give my bags to Bernard. Flying just makes my pissy self become pissier. I cannot wait to get to Bella. I'm not even paying attention when Bernard slides the door of the van open and I climb in, grumbling.

The door's not even closed yet when the tiniest of bodies slams into mine. Her arms around my neck. Her lips over mine at the same time.

"Tee-Tee..." I breathe out when she releases my mouth. She's peeling stuff from my face: my shades, my earphones, my beanie. Once she's got all of it off of me, she smiles broadly. Her hands cup my face, and she runs her fingers over my jaw.

I slowly smile at her, but as I do, she frowns. "You're tired." I stretch my smirk wider, shaking my head at her, while my hands wrap around her waist and bring her closer to me. "You didn't sleep on the plane..." She scowls at me, before turning to Bernard. "Bernie, you promised!"

"I tried, Miss Swan." Bernard gets in the front seat, clipping his seat belt on as he looks at us. "I told him how I do it. He didn't listen."

"I didn't listen?" I scoff. "You fell asleep while you were explaining!"

At this Bella laughs, turning her attention back to me. Her fingers still run over my jaw as she seems to be assessing how tired I am. "Straight to your parents'?"

"Hell, no! Your place first."

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

Bella doesn't stop talking until we get to her place — about work, mostly. She mentions _his_ name a couple times, but I let it slide. Our talking about _him _only ends up in fights, or basically me losing my shit and her comforting me. But I don't want to fight right now. It's been over three weeks since I last saw her. I will not waste my time on Paul.

Her keys barely make it to the table when I scoop her off the floor. Her squeal transforms into giggles as my lips go over her neck. It doesn't take long for us to land on her bed, and we're already half naked by the time we get there.

Her hands work quickly on the buttons of my jeans while I kneel on the bed, and I can't help but look because I love her hands on me. When she has me out of my boxers and both hands clasped on me, I smile.

_That's what I'm talking about._

I rid her of her pants and underwear as well while I settle between her legs. As good as her hands look on me, they don't keep me distracted for long. My hand caresses her thigh, reaching up in between. My finger barely touches her clit when her legs and hands tighten at the same time, trapping my hand inside with the former and making me groan in her neck with the latter.

She lets out a little moan as my finger slowly slips in. "Shit, Bella, you're so wet already." I kiss her neck and nibble her earlobe before whispering in her ear. "I've missed you so much."

I focus my fingers on her, my breathing on her neck, and my mind on finally being able to have her. She starts stroking me as well, but as she gets closer to her release, her movements become erratic and she finally drops her hand before I have to ask her to.

Watching Bella come undone on my fingers is one of my favorite sights. Her hands alternate between fisting the sheets, covering her eyes, or clenching the pillow. She screams into the pillow, and when she's done, her hands are on my neck, with a death grip on my hair.

Our kisses are desperate, sloppy. "Ready for a second one, baby?"

She smiles beautifully with her eyes closed.

I grab her behind her knees and pull her to the edge of the bed where I stand.

She sits up and runs her hands over me, trailing her fingers over my chest and stomach. She keeps going down, and when her hands wrap around me again, she licks her lips, looking up at me mischievously.

I smile but shake my head, dropping to her neck to whisper in her ear. "Turn around."

She swallows loudly but complies, kneeling on the bed with her back to me before dropping on her hands as well.

I couldn't have planned this better, since we are now both facing the mirror on the door of her bathroom. She smiles again through the reflection, flipping her hair to one side.

I keep one hand on her hip while the other wraps around my shaft, positioning the tip at her entrance. I enter her slowly, gently, as much as I can manage, and we both groan in unison. She's slick and warm, and it feels so good, my fingers clench over her hip bones as I give myself a second to get used to it.

Once I am able to, my hand caresses her ass cheek, running over to her lower back as I slowly move in and out of her. As my pace increases, one hand tightens around her hip while the other presses on her lower back.

She's panting, moaning, and I think I am too. When she turns her head and peeks at me over her shoulder, it's almost too much, but I force myself to keep my eyes opened.

She gives me some time before she starts meeting my thrusts, pushing back, letting me fill her deeper, and I know I won't be able to last much longer.

I focus on her face reflected in the mirror, her eyes closed, her bottom lip trapped in her teeth, until I can't keep my eyes opened anymore.

"Bella..." My fingers press into her skin, begging for her to come with me. "Please..."

Her arms give way, and she muffles a scream onto the mattress when I finally let go.

I ease her shaky legs down on the mattress and slip out of her. She hands me a towel without me even having to ask, and I clean both of us off before slumping next to her.

She puts a hand on my cheek and smiles. "I missed you."

"You only want me for my body," I say jokingly, and she explodes in laughter.

"I missed your face too," she says, once she calms down.

"Right..." I cover her hand, still at my jaw, with mine.

"And your hands..." She intertwines her fingers with mine. "Mine feel wrong... I don't know. It's not the same."

"You know? I had that same thought today." I feel the corners of my mouth stretch.

"Today?" I nod. "Like, on the plane?" I nod again. "Edward!" She smacks my shoulder playfully as she laughs.

"I'm sorry. What can I say? I was having these crazy dreams about you, and it was a long fucking flight, okay?"

Her laugh resonates in the room, and it's the cutest thing I've ever heard.

We stay in bed for a while until she declares it's time to go.

She steps in the bathroom as I try to rub the sleep out of my eyes. I look at the clock. It's only four p.m. here, but of course for me, it's around two in the morning.

"You should call your mother..." I barely hear Bella over the running water. "They're probably waiting for us."

I sit on the bed and look around for my pants. I get up, running a hand down my face with a groan. I am exhausted and ready to ask my mother for a rain check on the homecoming dinner. I find my boxers within the sheets and put them on as I spot my jeans on the other side of the bed. I stick my legs in, but before I can button them up, Bella's phone beeps on the night stand.

I grab it, thinking it's my mom, when a text appears on the screen.

**"Belly-Bells. I got the tickets. When you wanna do this? Pauly-not-D."**

My breath hitches as I read the text over and over again. Suddenly I'm pacing, the phone still in my shaking hand.

When Bella comes out of the bathroom, I still haven't buttoned my jeans.

"Did you call your mother?"

I shake my head, handing her the phone, afraid of what might come out of my mouth if I open it.

"Oh..." She looks it over, and a tiny smile appears on her face. I think I might have stopped breathing. When she looks up at me, she sighs.

I can't stay still anymore, so I start pacing again.

"Well, I guess the surprise is ruined," I think she says. I'm not sure though. I'm being consumed by anger, and it feels like my ears might explode.

I march out of the bedroom, my eyes on the floor, my hands in fists at my sides.

"Edward..." she calls behind me. "Edward, stop."

I stop by the kitchen and try to breathe, but the air doesn't seem to want to enter my lungs.

"I asked him to help me get tickets for Seth's game tomorrow. It's his last game with LA Galaxy. I wanted it to be a surprise."

I hear her words, but they don't really register in my brain, because it doesn't change anything. It doesn't matter _why _he's texting her.

I might be being irrational, but I don't care. I hate Paul. I hate that she works with him.

My fingers clench around the edge of the counter as I struggle to keep myself in check — to bury everything inside. I close my eyes tightly and force myself to breathe through my nose, but it doesn't work. My arms start shaking.

_God, I hate this so much.  
_  
"Edward, talk to me." Her hand closes around my wrist as she pulls on it. "Please..."

What can I say, really? That I'm jealous? That I'm a possessive, overbearing and selfish asshole?

"I'm fine. I'm okay. I am," I make myself say, unable to look at her.

"Bullshit!"

I turn to her in surprise. She's angry. She's upset. I've really done it now.

"Talk to me, Edward," she demands.

But I don't know how — I don't know how to tell her what I feel without ruining everything.

"I..." I struggle for words as she looks at me expectantly. There's no real anger behind her eyes, mostly concern... frustration. I force myself to try to calm down and be honest. "I'm just... I'm just trying really hard not to be angry right now."

"Why are you angry?" She sounds genuinely surprised, like she has no idea how hard this is. I can feel that switch flip in my brain, turning the filter off, and I know it's all going to come spilling out.

"Why do you go to him?! I could have gotten us tickets, Bella. Better tickets."

"Edward, stop. I wanted to get them for you."

"You never let me get you anything! Yet he gets away with everything, it seems."

"You're being ridiculous!"

"Am I? AM I? Do I have to bring up your birthday again?"

"Oh God..." She lets go of my hand and huffs in frustration, looking down.

"You let him throw you a party which I couldn't even come to, and you refuse to accept my present."

"He didn't throw me a party. It was the people I work with who did. How many times do I have to say this?"

She remains calm, which just makes me angrier so I pull at my hair.

"And you tried to give me an Audi as a birthday present..." she continues. "An Audi! Who does that?"

"I hate that piece-of-shit truck you drive."

"Hey, don't hate on the truck." She comes closer, her hand reaching for my cheek. "You know how much I love that truck."

I breathe through my nose, closing my eyes as she reaches behind my ear.

"I hate that he's here for you when I'm not." I hate not being here, period.

"Stop. Who cares about Paul? You're here now. Please, stop this."

"He calls you Bells. I hate that nickname."

"Everyone at work calls me that."

"I hate everyone you work with." At this she laughs. "I'm serious!"

"You're being a big baby. I can't take you seriously when you're being like this." She releases my face and starts pulling her hair up in a ponytail. "Are we going to your parents' or not?"

I groan. I want to say no. I'm exhausted, physically... mentally. I'm still pissed. And it's not just about Paul. I'm miserable... for missing her birthday, for missing everything. I hate this.

But, as usual, she's right. I'm here now, and I'm ruining it.

I focus on her eyes, which are still staring at me, and manage to take a couple of deep breaths. She slowly smiles at me, and that's the end of that. I give up and start getting ready.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

My mother, as usual, is unable to not make a big deal out of things. When we arrive at their house, a party is in full effect. Alice is home already, and of course, Jasper is there too. Emmett and his family, and even Seth!

Messy, my six-year-old lab, slams into my legs, but before I can pet him, he turns to Bella who scratches his head.

"I see how it is, Messy. I see." Traitor.

I hug my dad, and my mom pulls my face down for a kiss before she disappears into the kitchen again.

Bella's father is here too. Even though I've never met him, my sister took it upon herself to have him and Bella over for Thanksgiving, which I missed due to a Champions League game. He's sitting on the couch, next to Emmett, watching the Seahawks game.

As soon as he sees me, Emmett gets up and wraps his arms around me in a bear hug. "That free kick against Barca was a beauty, you lucky son-of-a-bitch!" He cringes as he releases me and turns to Bella's father. "Sorry, Chief Swan," he says, completely unapologetically.

"Charlie," he says, waving Emmett off as he stands up.

"Beer?" Emmett raises his eyebrows at me.

Bella's father and I nod at the same time, and Emmett leaves us.

"I'm a big fan." Charlie shakes my hand and slowly pulls me closer, tightening his hand around mine. "But that's my daughter in there," he whispers in my ear, gesturing to the kitchen where you can hear the women bickering. "And when it comes to my daughter, I don't care who you are. If you hurt her..."

Charlie's overprotectiveness of Bella makes me smile. If anyone was going to end up being hurt here, it was going to be me. Because after only four months, I was ready for everything with Bella. Everything. I was already struggling to give her space, to let her be. I needed her. I needed her so much that I was ready to give up everything for her... to be with her. She had my heart in her hands; she could crush it, any day now.

So yeah... I wasn't going to hurt her. I couldn't.

"I won't, sir," I say firmly, convincingly, as he clasps a hand on my shoulder.

"You a Seahawks' fan?" He pats my back a little harder than needed, but not enough to really cause any pain.

"Sure..." I shrug, sitting down. I don't really follow American football, but whatever keeps me in Charlie's good graces.

Emmett returns with the beers and Bella trailing behind him. She sits on the armrest of the chair I'm sitting in, wrapping an arm over my shoulder and placing her hand in my hair. I rest my head back, and before I know it, my eyelids are fluttering closed.

At this rate, I'll pass out before dinner.

"Tee-Tee, stop..." With a little shake of my head, I turn to look at her. She smiles, bringing the bottle to her lips. I mimic the action and get lost in her eyes.

Emmett's not-so-delicate smack against my knee makes me spill some of my beer.

"Jesus, Emmett! What?!" I clean my chin with my hand.

"Why do you call her tittie?"

I think I blink twice, trying to take in what he just said... and in front of Charlie for fuck's sake!

"It's not tittie! It's Tee-Tee!" I try explaining, realizing that it's my fault. I have never called her that in front of anyone before. Bella laughs next to me before heading back to the kitchen.

"Sounds like tittie to me." Emmett leans back on the couch, drinking from his beer.

It's safe to say the nickname is now officially ruined.

I look at Charlie, who does not seem to have heard anything, or at least is pretending not to, so I relax into my seat and pretend as well.

Dinner goes over smoothly. My mother insists on stuffing everyone's faces, even Seth's who has clearly stated he has a game tomorrow. It all goes well until my dad asks me about contract renewals. I give him a vague answer that satisfies him for the moment, but for the rest of the dinner, that is all I can think about.

_I am refusing Real Madrid's offer._

The biggest club that ever existed. I am going to say no to them.

My father will be supportive of whatever it is I decide to do, but just thinking about telling him kind of makes it official.

I lose track of the conversation, and all of the sudden, plates are being cleared. I help with what I can until I am kicked out of the kitchen. The guys are back in front of the TV. I smile at my sister, who is on Jasper's lap making him grin at whatever weird thing she's saying. Seth is on the floor, playing with little Collin and a stuffed football. I hesitate to go sit with them, until I decide it might do me well to get some fresh air and clear my head.

I don't have the door half opened yet when Messy squishes between my legs, desperate to get out.

"All right, all right, you freak!"

The air is chilly, but it's not that bad. The smell of salt fills my lungs immediately, and I take a deep breath. I walk halfway to the shore, to the log that has been there since I can recall.

I laugh at Messy, already hunting for creatures he can terrorize, and drop on the log with a sigh. Mom's gonna be pissed. He's already made a mess of himself.

I stay there for a while, enjoying the sound of the waves, trying to keep my mind from thinking too much.

When Messy drops a half-eaten crab and snaps his head up, I already know there's someone coming. The twist of my stomach tells me it's Bella.

I turn back and smile, finding that I'm right. She's wearing one of my hoodies and trying to peel Messy off of her.

When she succeeds, she smiles, coming closer and sitting next to me.

Messy finally calms down and sits at my feet as I run my fingers behind his ear absentmindedly. Bella's hands are in the front pocket of the hoodie, keeping them warm.

My eyes land on her as she takes in the view in front of her with a satisfied sigh, and I decide right now is as good as ever to tell her what's been on my mind.

"I miss this," I say, grabbing a loose branch and throwing it for Messy to fetch.

"I bet," Bella says, turning to smile at me. "It's beautiful here."

I smirk at her too. It is nice here, but that's not what I'm missing.

"I've been thinking..." I start, suddenly getting nervous. "Um... I could probably talk to Aro, see if he can get me a deal on a transfer to LA Galaxy."

Bella's eyebrows scrunch in the middle. "Galaxy? Why?"

Her words sting. I thought the possibility of me moving here to be with her would be... I don't know... less confusing, more exciting.

"Well... I've proven myself in Europe," I try to elaborate. "I could bring something back… to my country, you know?" I keep my eyes on hers.

_Tell me you want me here, Bella. Tell me you need me just as much as I need you. I'd give up everything. I'd do it._

"You wanna play... here?" Her laughter is genuine, but it feels like a bucket of icy water running down my spine.

I look down at Messy who comes back with the stick. I scratch the top of his head and throw the stick again.

"You'd be miserable, Edward. No one cares about soccer here. Things might have changed at an international level after the World Cup. But not at the national league level. At least not yet."

I stay looking down, my feet kicking around some sand, as she gives me the same speech I gave Seth a while ago.

"Here they won't care about how you play. They'd care about who you date, what you wear... It's ridiculous!"

"You're right." I get up, wiping the sand from my hands, not being able to take her dismissal anymore. "Don't know what I was thinking," I mutter under my breath.

It is obvious to me now that Bella is on a very different page than me at the moment. She's not ready for this.

"Hey..." Her hand gets a hold of my sweater sleeve, and she stops me. "Are you okay?"

I allow myself a couple seconds to compose my expression before turning to face her. "Yeah..."

She eyes me suspiciously, not buying it one bit.

"I'm just tired," I say with a shrug. "It's like four in the morning for me." I try to give her a smile.

I know she's not convinced and that she won't let this go yet, but at least she agrees to leave.

But of course, as soon as we get to her place, she's quick to ask, "What's wrong?"

I walk into the bedroom, getting rid of my beanie and sweater. The whole ride here, I haven't come up with anything better to tell her than the truth.

I sit on the edge of the bed with a huff. I really don't want to get into this right now.

"Why is this so difficult?" I say into my hands as they cover my face. She's next to me in an instant, peeling the fingers from my face.

"What is?"

"This! Us!" I snap, my eyes finding hers again.

"Edward..."

"I lied, okay? I'm not fine. I'm not okay with this. I miss you. I miss you so fucking much, Tee-Tee." My hands pulls at my hair as I try to deal with the truth of what I'm saying.

"I've missed you too."

"... and yet, you feel the idea of me moving back here it's ridiculous!"

"Not because I wouldn't like to have you here! But because I don't think it's what's best for you!"

"What's best for me is to be with you."

She sighs and sits next to me. "I know it's hard but—"

And I cut her off because I just have to get this off my chest. "I got offered a four-year contract with Real Madrid."

Her face lights up immediately, and she opens her mouth — to congratulate me I'm sure — but I stop her. "I can't do this for four years. I barely managed to stay sane these four months."

She rubs her hands over her thighs a couple times before she gets up.

"Okay, let me tell you what I _can't _do." Her hands are on her hips as she stands gravely in front of me. I have a bad feeling about this.

"All right..."

"I'm not going to be one of those WAGs." She waves her hand off at the term.

"One of those what?"

"WAGs. You know? Footballers' Wives and Girlfriends," she explains.

"Oh..."

"I'm not gonna just stand by your side and look pretty and have your babies. Support you from behind the curtains..."

"O...kay."

"I mean, I will support you and stand by you, but that's not all I'm going to be. I'm going to have my life and my career. I love journalism, and that's what I will do. Whether you like who I work with or not."

"Okay," I say in defeat, looking at my feet. I knew it. It's too soon. I can't ask her to come with me, and she won't let me come here.

It's long-distance or nothing.

So it's long-distance...

At least for a while longer.

Her hand on my cheek surprises me, and when my eyes find hers, I see nothing but warmth and truth.

"Now let me tell you what I _can _do." I nod at her briefly, and when my hair falls over my forehead, she runs her fingers in it, pushing it back, before she continues. "I can do all of that, while being with you."

Yes, but a thousand miles apart...

"I know... I'm sorry. I'll try harder. I'll be okay." It's only been four months. I need to respect her decision. I need to make this work.

"Edward, you're not listening."

I take a deep breath, trying to be strong for her, but just thinking about going back to England alone crushes my chest and I can't breathe — I can't think.

I try pulling my pieces together, holding on to the feeling of her fingertips running on my jawline. I can do this — I have to. She might only need a few more months. Maybe just until the end of this season. I will have more time next summer to be with her…

"Edward..."

I manage to open my eyes and force myself to smile at her. I don't know what it looks like, but I might have not succeeded because she doesn't smile back but sighs instead.

With both hands on my face, she forces me to look at her. "Listen to me," she orders, and I do my best to hold her gaze. "I can look for a job in Madrid."

_Wait, what?_

"I'm sure I can find something." She shrugs. "Not to brag or anything, but I am fluent in Spanish, remember?"

"W-what... what are you talking about?"

"Edward, I love you." She pulls my face up again. "I've missed you like crazy. These four months have been torturous being so far away from you."

I have to remind myself to breathe as her words sink in.

"You... y-you..." The words get stuck in my mouth, and I suddenly feel a million pounds lighter.

"I love you," she says again, and I could be seeing things, but I'd bet there are tears prickling at the corner of her eyes.

Her hands still cup my face as I get up, wrapping her legs around my hips, bringing her up with me.

"Say it again," I whisper, my forehead touching hers.

"I love you," she repeats between giggles.

"God, Bella... you know how long I've been waiting to say that to you?!"

"How long?" she asks teasingly.

"Months!" I lose the fight against the grin that insists on spreading on my face.

"Months?!" She rushes a hand to her chest in mocked surprise.

"Yes! And now you beat me to it!"

"I'm sorry?" Her eyes, a sea of melted chocolate brown, burn fervently as she stares at me.

"Well, good, 'cause I love you."

My lips seal the words in hers, and I kiss her as if I need her to breathe, which isn't really an exaggeration.

A little over four months ago, Bella walked into my life to alter it completely for the better. I owe her one of the greatest experiences of my life: winning the World Cup. And from that moment on, she hasn't stopped making me whole. As we start this new stage of our lives, finally together, I am convinced there will be many more moments of victory to come.

**A/N:**

Well, there you have it. I hope you have enjoyed reading this as much as I have enjoyed writing (and researching) it!

Ronnie.


End file.
